THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR. 

MRS.    DELANY 

A   MEMOIR    :    I70O-I788. 

SECOND  EDITION 


Witk  Seven  Illustrations  in  Photogravu  re. 
Crown  Bvo.     Cloth  gilt.     is.  6d. 

'  We  cordially  thank  Mr.  Paston  for  his 
skill  in  compressing  the  record  into  so 
agreeable  and  readable  a  volume.' — 
Literature. 

'A  delightful  book,  which  the  eighteenth- 
century  student  will  do  well  to  preserve.' — 
Daily  Chronicle. 

'  From  every  point  of  view  she  was  a 
memorable  woman,  and  her  life,  in  the 
agreeable  form  in  which  Mr.  Paston  pre- 
sents it,  is  well  worth  reading.  It  will 
send  many  readers  to  the  larger  book.' — 
The  Times. 

'  'Tis  like  reading  a  book  by  Thackeray 
to  go  through  this  entertaining  mirror  of 
fashionable  life  in  the  last  century.'— Scots- 
man. 

LONDON:   GRANT    RICHARDS 

9    HENRIETTA   STREET,    W.C. 


LITTLE  MEMOIRS 

OF   THE 

EIGHTEENTH   CENTURY 

BY 

GEORGE    PASTON 


WITH    PORTRAITS    IN    PHOTOGRAVURE 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  BUTTON  AND   CO. 

GRANT   RICHARDS 

LONDON 

1901 


First  printed  March  1901 
Reprinted  May  1901 


Edinburgh:  T.  and  A.  CONSTABLE,  (late)  Printers  to  Her  Majesty 


College 
Library 


PREFACE 

IN  the  following  Memoirs  I  have  invited  the  reader  to 
meet  a  little  company  of  men  and  women  who  may  seem,  at 
first  sight,  to  have  little  or  nothing  in  common  with  one 
another,  consisting  as  they  do  of  two  grandes  dames  of  the 
second  George's  Court,  a  poet  playwright  who  dabbled  in 
diplomacy,  an  aristocratic  declassee  who  died  in  the  odour 
of  royalty,  an  ex-shoemaker  turned  bookseller,  a  Highland 
lady  with  literary  proclivities,  and  a  distinguished  scholar 
who  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  his  misfortunes.  Yet  the 
points  of  resemblance,  though  less  obvious,  are  scarcely  less 
decided  than  the  points  of  contrast,  for  all  were  children  of 
the  same  century,  all  belonged  to  the  genus  '  self-revealerj  all 
have  left  their  '  confessions ','  in  the  form  of  letters  or  auto- 
biography, all  were  celebrated,  or  at  least  notorious,  in  their 
own  day  (with  the  exception  of  John  Tweddell,  whose 
notoriety  was  posthumous),  and  all  have  fallen,  whether 
deservedly  or  not,  into  neglect,  if  not  oblivion. 

It  has  seemed  almost  like  an  act  of  charity  to  resuscitate 
these  sociable  garrulous  beings,  if  only  for  half  an  hour, 
and  allow  them  to  gossip  to  a  modern  reader.  The  long 
stories  that  they  told  to  a  more  leisured  age  would  strain 
the  patience  of  a  twentieth-century  audience ;  yet  there  are 

v 


PREFACE 

in  these  long-winded  chronicles  many  quaint  reflections, 
many  curious  traits  of  character,  many  intimate  records  of 
men  and  manners,  which,  like  the  dried  petals  in  a  bowl 
of  pot-pourri,  still  preserve  their  savour  and  pungency. 

I  have  made  no  attempt  to  act  as  special  pleader  for  any 
member  of  my  little  company.  While  allowing  them  to  tell 
tfieir  own  stories  in  their  own  complacent  fashion,  I  have 
quoted,  by  way  of  corrective,  certain  of  the  more  candid 
comments  of  their  contemporaries.  Horace  Walpole  dis- 
poses of  Lady  Pomfrefs  pretensions  to  learning,  and  pricks 
the  bubble  of  Lady  Craven's  reputation ;  Cumberland  is 
satirised  by  Sheridan,  and  a  member  of  the  Pindar  family 
pokes  fun  at  Mr.  Lackington ;  while  the  kind-hearted  Sir 
Walter  gives  Mrs.  Grant  a  rap  on  the  knuckles,  and  poor 
John  Tweddell  is  jilted  by  his  sweetheart — the  most  practical 
of  all  adverse  comments.  Thus,  having  presented  the 
evidence  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  I  leave  to  the  judicious 
reader  the  task  of  summing  up  and  finding  a  verdict. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

LADY  HERTFORD  (1699-1754) :  LADY  POMFRET  (dr.  1700-1761),        3 
RICHARD  CUMBERLAND  (1732-1811),      .  .57 

LADY  CRAVEN  (MARGRAVINE  OF  ANSPACH)  (1750-1828),  .  .          119 

JAMES  LACKINGTON  (1746-1815),  .  .       .    f  .205 

MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN  (1755-1838),   ....         237 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL  (WITH  EXTRACTS  FROM 

HIS  UNPUBLISHED  LOVE-LETTERS)  (1769-1799), .  .  .         299 

INDEX  385 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

LADY  CRAVEN  AND  SON, Frontispiece 

HENRIETTA,  COUNTESS  OF  POMFRET,              .           .  PAGE  10 

RICHARD  CUMBERLAND,     .           .           .           .           .  ,,101 

LADY  ELIZABETH  BERKELEY,  AFTERWARDS  LADY 

CRAVEN,      .......  ,,136 

JAMES  LACKINGTON, ,,225 

MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN, ,,290 

JOHN  TVVEDDELL ,,302 


IX 


LADY  HERTFORD 

(1699-1754) 
AND 

LADY  POMFRET 

(circa  1700-1761) 

THERE  is  a  little  group  of  noble  dames  whom,  by  reason 
of  the  frequency  with  which  they  smile  and  curtsey  to  us 
out  of  the  letters  and  memoirs  of  past  days,  we  come  at 
last  to  look  upon  as  old  acquaintances,  if  not  as  intimate 
friends.  We  hear  of  their  flirtations  from  one  chronicler, 
of  their  follies  from  another,  a  feminine  correspondent 
describes  their  '  birthday  clothes,'  a  wicked  epigram  hits 
off  their  personal  defects,  a  flowery  dedication  credits 
them  with  all  the  virtues.  Among  the  ladies  whose 
doings  supplied  much  material  for  contemporary  gossips, 
and  who  themselves  wielded  only  too  fluent  pens,  were  my 
Lady  Hertford  and  my  Lady  Pomfret.  Their  corre- 
spondence, which  was  published  in  1804,  met  with  a 
success  that  would  have  delighted  them  had  they  been 
alive  to  witness  it ;  but  its  popularity  was  not  of  a  last- 
ing quality,  like  that  of  their  contemporary,  Lady  Mary 
Wortley  Montagu,  and  in  a  few  years  its  vogue  was 
over,  and  the  writers  forgotten  by  the  public.  At  the 
time  of  its  publication  the  editor,  a  Mr.  Bingley,  had 
not  the  opportunities  which  we  enjoy  of  comparing  his 

3 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

material  with  the  numerous  letters  of  Horace  Wai  pole 
which  have  been  printed  since  the  beginning  of  the 
century.  The  Lady  Pomfret  of  the  correspondence  is 
represented  to  us  as  a  grande  dame  of  the  utmost 
refinement  and  culture,  but  the  Lady  Pomfret  drawn 
for  us  by  Walpole's  malicious  pen  is  the  most  per- 
fect specimen  of  a  precieuse  ridicule  that  her  century 
has  produced.  We  have  more  than  a  suspicion  that 
Lady  Hertford  belonged  to  the  same  genus,  but  in  her 
case  there  are  fewer  data  to  go  upon.  It  is  certain 
that  she  too  prided  herself  upon  being  something 
more  than  a  mere  woman  of  fashion ;  for  she  ostenta- 
tiously patronised  the  poets,  took  an  interest  in  the  fine 
arts,  and  dabbled,  not  too  successfully,  in  the  rhymed 
couplets  so  dear  to  the  poetaster  of  the  period. 

Frances  Thynne  was  the  elder  of  the  two  daughters 
and  co-heiresses  of  the  Hon.  Henry  Thynne,  only  son 
of  the  first  Lord  Weymouth,  and  was  born  at  Longleat 
in  1699.  In  1713 — though  then  only  fourteen,  if  her 
biographer's  dates  are  correct — she  was  married  to 
Lord  Hertford,  son  of  that  domestic  Tartar,  the 
4  proud '  Duke  of  Somerset.  Soon  after  her  marriage 
she  became  one  of  the  Ladies  of  the  Bedchamber  to 
Queen  Caroline,  then  Princess  of  Wales,  and  continued 
in  her  office  until  the  Queen's  death  in  1737,  when 
she  retired  into  private  life.  She  had  distinguished 
herself  during  her  stay  at  Court  by  interposing  with 
the  Queen  on  behalf  of  Savage  when  he  was  found 
guilty  of  murder  in  a  drunken  brawl.  '  His  merit  and 
calamities,'  says  Johnson,  in  his  Life  of  the  poet, 
'  happened  to  reach  the  ear  of  the  Countess  of  Hert- 
ford, who  engaged  in  his  support  with  all  the  tender- 
ness that  is  excited  by  pity,  and  all  the  zeal  which  is 
4 


LADY  POMFRET 

kindled  by  generosity  ;  and  demanding  an  audience  of 
the  Queen,  laid  before  her  the  whole  series  of  his 
mother's  cruelty,  exposed  the  improbability  of  an 
accusation  by  which  he  was  charged  with  an  intent 
to  commit  a  murder  that  could  produce  no  advantage, 
and  soon  convinced  her  how  little  his  former  conduct 
could  deserve  to  be  mentioned  as  a  reason  for  extra- 
ordinary severity.  The  interposition  of  this  lady  was 
so  successful  that  he  was  soon  after  admitted  to  bail, 
and  on  March  9,  1728,  pleaded  the  King's  pardon.1 

In  the  same  year,  1728,  Thomson  dedicated  his 
poem  '  Spring '  to  Lady  Hertford,  *  whose  practice  it 
was  to  invite  some  poet  into  the  country  every  summer 
to  hear  her  verses  and  assist  her  studies.  This  honour 
was  once  conferred  upon  Thomson,  who  took  more 
delight  in  carousing  with  Lord  Hertford  and  his  friends 
than  in  assisting  her  ladyship's  poetical  operations,  and 
therefore  never  received  another  summons.'  It  must 
have  been  before  she  had  marked  her  sense  of  his 
misdemeanours  that  the  poet  addressed  her  in  the 
lines  : — 

'  Oh,  Hertford,  fittest  or  to  shine  in  courts 
With  unaffected  grace,  or  walk  the  plain 
With  innocence  and  meditation  joined 
In  soft  assemblage,  listen  to  my  song, 
Which  thy  own  season  paints  ;  when  nature  all 
Is  blooming  and  benevolent,  like  thee.' 

Both  Shenstone  and  Dr.  Watts  dedicated  poems 
to  Lady  Hertford,  who  was  also  the  patroness  of 
minor  poets  of  her  own  sex,  such  as  Mrs.  Elizabeth 
Carter  and  Mrs.  Rowe.  According  to  Lady  Mary 
Wortley  Montagu,  Lady  Hertford  was  the  original 

5 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

of  Arabella  in  Mrs.  Lennox's   once  famous  novel,  The 
Fair  Quixote,  though  without  Arabella's  beauty. 

Henrietta,  Countess  of  Pomfret,  was  also  an  heiress, 
being  the  only  surviving  child  of  Lord  Jeffries  of 
Wem,  and  granddaughter  of  the  first  and  infamous 
Lord  Jeffries.  In  1720  she  married  Thomas  Fermor, 
Lord  Lempster,  who,  a  year  later,  was  created  Earl 
of  Pomfret.  Shortly  after  her  marriage  she,  like 
Lady  Hertford,  was  appointed  one  of  the  Ladies  of 
the  Bedchamber  to  Caroline,  Princess  of  Wales. 
During  the  early  years  of  her  marriage  she  was 
a  friend  and  protegee  of  Mrs.  Clayton's,  afterwards 
Lady  Sundon,  and  many  of  her  letters  to  that 
lady,  in  which  she  asked  advice  in  Court  difficulties, 
have  been  preserved.  In  April  1726  Lady  Pomfret 
went  to  Bath  in  attendance  on  the  Princess  Amelia, 
daughter  of  George  n.,  and  from  thence  she  writes  to 
Mrs.  Clayton : — 

*  The  Princess  Amelia  is  the  Oddest,  or  at  least  one 
of  the  Oddest  Princesses  that  was  ever  known ;  she  has 
her  Ears  shut  to  flattery,  as  her  heart  open  to  Honesty ; 
she  has  Honour,  justice,  good-nature,  sence,  wit,  resolu- 
tion, and  more  good  qualities  than  I  have  time  to  tell 
you ;  so  mixed  that  (if  one  is  not  a  divel)  'tis  impossible 
to  say  she  has  too  much  or  too  little  of  any ;  yet  all 
these  does  not  in  anything  (without  exception)  make 
her  forget  the  King  of  England's  daughter,  which 
dignity  she  keeps  up  with  such  an  obliging  behaviour 
that  she  charms  everybody.  Don't  believe  her  com- 
plaisance to  me  makes  me  say  one  silible  more  than 
the  Rigid  truth,  tho'  I  confess,  she  has  gained  my 
Heart ;  and  has  added  one  more  to  the  number  of 
those  few  whose  Deserts  forces  one's  affection.' 
6 


LADY  POMFRET 

This  letter,  which  was  probably  intended  for  Caroline's 
ears,  is  signed 

'  Dearest  Mrs.  Clayton's 

Most  grateful,  faithful  and  sincere 
friend  and  servant.' 

In  1727  Lord  Pomfret  was  appointed  Master  of  the 
Horse  to  Queen  Caroline,  a  post  which  he  is  said  to 
have  bought  of  Mrs.  Clayton  with  a  pair  of  diamond 
earrings  worth  £1400.  This  transaction  gave  rise  to 
a  well-known  bon  mot  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley's,  who, 
hearing  the  old  Duchess  of  Marlborough  express  sur- 
prise that  Mrs.  Clayton  should  call  on  her  '  with  her 
bribe  in  her  ear,'  exclaimed,  '  How  are  people  to  know 
where  wine  is  to  be  sold  if  she  does  not  hang  out  a  sign  ?  ' 

In  1728  Lady  Pomfret  was  again  at  Bath  with  the 
Princess  Amelia,  and  in  the  following  letter  to  Mrs. 
Clayton  gives  a  curious  glimpse  into  the  troubles  of  a 
lady-in-waiting : l — 

'  I  hear  from  London  that  it  is  said  at  St.  James's  I 
have  offended  a  woman  of  great  Quality  by  leaving  her 
out  in  an  invitation  to  play  at  Cards  with  the  Princess. 
I  am  so  altered  about  vexing  myself  for  triffles,  and 
there  is  in  reality  so  little  in  this,  that  till  you  tell  me 
the  Queen  is  displeased  I  will  not  be  so  about  it ;  yet  as 
it  has  an  odd  appearance  in  the  terms  I  have  put  it, 
have  patience  to  read  the  matter  of  fact,  and  then  judge 
for  yourself  and  me.  When  the  Princess  first  came 
down  every  Person  of  Quality  (that  ever  went  to  Court) 
both  sent  and  came  to  enquire  after  her  Health.  In 
two  or  three  days  she  went  to  drink  the  Waters,  and 
between  every  glass,  walked  in  Harrison's  Gardens, 
where  all  people  of  Fashion  came  and  walked  with 

1  Now  first  published. 

7 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

her;  the  others  (that  were  not  known  to  her)  walked 
at  a  little  distance.  The  third  morning  Lady  Frances 
Manners  asked  me  if  I  knew  Lady  Wigtoun  (a  Scotish 
Countess) ;  I  said  I  had  never  heard  of  her  in  my  life, 
and  believed  she  had  not  yet  sent  to  the  Princess,  upon 
which  both  she  and  the  Duchess  of  Rutland  smiled,  and 
said,  "  No,  nor  she  won't,  I  can  tell  you  ;  for  seeing  the 
Princess  coming  to  the  Pump  the  morning  before,  she 
had  run  away  like  a  fury,  for  fear  of  seeing  her,  and 
declares  so  public  an  aversion  to  the  King  that  she 
would  not  go  to  the  Ball  made  on  the  Queen's  Birth- 
day." They  laughed  much  at  her  open  violence,  and 
said  she  would  not  speak  to  any  one  she  thought  a 
Whig.  All  the  Company  agreed  in  this  discourse,  but 
while  'twas  about  she  herself  came  into  the  gardens,  and 
walked  very  rudely  past  the  Princess,  and  pushed  away 
the  Duchess  of  Rutland  and  myself  that  was  near,  and 
neither  offered  to  make  the  least  curtsey,  for  two  or  three 
turns  and  then  went  out.  After  the  Princess  came  home 
she  told  me  to  send  for  six  Ladies  to  play  at  cards  with, 
which  I  did  of  the  most  considerable  at  Bath.  Next 
day  Lady  Wigtoun  went  to  Scotland  for  her  whole  life, 
as  'twas  fixed  she  should  long  before  the  Princess  came. 
Neither  the  Princess  nor  myself  said  one  word  when  she 
passed  by  in  that  rude  manner.'  .  .  .  Lady  Pomfret 
concludes  by  begging  her  friend  to  clear  her  from  the 
accusation  of  having  shown  neglect  or  incivility  towards 
a  great  lady. 

The  greater  part  of  this  unpublished  correspondence  x 

has  little  intrinsic  interest ;  but  one  more  letter  to  Mrs. 

Clayton  (now   become   Lady   Sundon)    may  be  quoted, 

which  is  dated   from   Hanover   Square,    August    1735. 

1  Now  in  the  British  Museum. 

8 


LADY  POMFRET 

Lady  Pomfret  had  evidently  just  come  up  to  town  for  her 
term  of  waiting,  and  writes  to  describe  her  first  visit  to 
Kensington,  where  the  Queen  was  then  living  during  the 
King's  absence  at  Hanover.  '  All  I  can  say  of  Ken- 
sington,1 she  writes,  '  is  that  'tis  just  the  same  as  it  was ; 
only  pared  so  close  as  the  King  does  the  Sacrament.  My 
Lord  Pomfret  and  I  were  the  greatest  strangers  there ; 
no  Secretary  of  State,  no  Chamberlain  or  Vice-Cham- 
berlain, but  Lord  Robert,  and  he  just  in  the  same  Coat 
on  the  same  spot  of  ground,  with  the  same  words  in  his 
mouth,  that  he  had  when  I  left  'em.  Miss  Meadows  in 
the  window  at  work,  etc.,  but  tho'  half  an  hour  after 
two,  the  Queen  was  not  quite  dressed ;  so  I  had  the 
Honour  of  seeing  her  before  she  came  out  of  her  little 
blew  room,  where  I  was  graciously  received,  and  ac- 
quainted her  Majesty  to  her  great  sorrow  how  ill  you 
have  been  ;  and  then  to  alleviate  that  sorrow  I  informed 
her  how  much  Sundon  was  altered  for  the  better,  and 
that  it  looked  like  a  Castle.  From  hence  we  proceeded 
to  a  very  short  Drawing-room,  where  the  Queen  joked 
much  with  my  Lord  Pomfret  about  Barbadoes ;  and 
told  me  she  would  have  wished  me  joy  of  it,  but  that 
Lady  Pembroke  being  in  waiting,  she  feared  to  put  her 
in  mind  of  her  Brother.  I  heard,  but  not  at  Court, 
that  the  two  Ladies  of  the  Bedchamber  and  the  Gover- 
ness are  yet  on  so  bad  a  Foot,  that  upon  the  latter 
coming  into  the  room,  the  others  went  away,  tho'  just 
going  to  sit  down.  I  am  very  unwilling  to  mention  one 
thing,  because  I  fear  'twill  displease  Miss  Dive,1  who  has 
so  much  pleased  me,  but  it  is  the  Discour  at  present  that 
the  Prince  his  Wedding  is  put  off  till  May,  as  the  King's 
return  is  to  the  latter  end  of  October ;  this,  with  Mr. 
1  One  of  the  maids  of  honour  and  niece  of  Lady  Sundon. 

9 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

Harvey's  intention  of  resigning  his  Equerry's  Place,  is  all 

the  news  I  have Thus,  dear  Lady  Sundon,  you  see 

I  am  plunged  as  deep  in  chitchat  as  if  I  had  not  been 
out  of  it :  and  'tis  but  like  a  Delightful  Dream,  that 
calmness,  that  freedom  of  Thought,  of  Look,  of  Action, 
enjoyed  at  Home,  and  improved  at  Sundon — but  here 
'tis  otherwise,  and  our  first  Parents  at  leaving  Paradise 
could  not  find  it  more  necessary  to  hide  part  of  their 
Bodies  than  we  at  Court  do  to  hide  part  of  our  Minds.' 

Lady  Pomfret,  like  Lady  Hertford,  retired  from 
public  life  after  the  death  of  the  Queen  in  1737,  and  it 
was  about  this  time  that  the  ardent  friendship  began 
between  the  two  ladies  who,  during  the  period  of  their 
employment  at  Court,  seem  to  have  considered  it  prudent 
to  refrain  from  any  close  intimacy.  In  the  autumn  of 
1738  Lady  Pomfret  went  abroad  with  her  husband  and 
elder  daughters  for  three  years,  during  which  time  she 
kept  up  a  regular  correspondence  with  Lady  Hertford. 
Her  first  letter  to  that  lady  is  dated  September  2, 
1738,  and  is  written  from  Monts,  near  Paris,  where  the 
Pomfrets  stayed  during  the  first  six  months  of  their 
sojourn  abroad. 

'  Your  ladyship's  obliging  commands  that  I  should 
write  to  you,'  she  begins,  '  I  with  great  pleasure  obey, 
but  I  am  ashamed  to  think  how  little  entertainment  I 
can  send  you  from  a  country  that  is  esteemed  an  inex- 
haustible fund  of  amusement  to  all  the  polite  world 
who  visit  it.  I  am  not  insensible  to  its  charms,  a  clear 
air,  a  beautiful  well-cultivated  soil,  with  a  civil  and 
diverting  people ;  yet  all  this  is  nothing  but  what 
Gordon's  Grammar  can  tell  you  better  than  I.'  Re- 
fraining on  this  occasion  from  describing  well-known 
sights,  Lady  Pomfret  contents  herself  with  sketching  in 
10 


LADY  POMFRET 

few  words  her  old-fashioned  house,  her  large  garden,  and 
her  quiet  occupations — '  working  a  little,  reading  more, 
and   walking  very   much' — and   signs  herself  with  the 
flourishes  then  fashionable  : — 
*  Dear  Madam, 

Your  Ladyship's 

Most  obliged  and 

Most  obedient  humble  servant.' 

This  formality  was  somewhat  relaxed  in  the  course  of 
a  correspondence  which  was  carried  on  with  marvellous 
diligence  by  the  friends,  who  seldom  allowed  a  week  to 
elapse  without  posting  a  letter,  though  the  punctual 
delivery  of  their  epistles  was  quite  another  matter.  A 
lesson  on  the  courtly  good  manners  of  the  period  may 
be  learned  from  the  compositions  of  both  ladies,  though 
one  may  be  permitted  to  rejoice  that  so  much  cere- 
mony and  such  high-flown  acknowledgments  of  small 
favours  are  not  expected  between  intimate  friends  in 
the  present  day.  Lady  Pomfret,  more  especially  after 
her  arrival  in  Italy,  draws  her  material  rather  too 
unblushingly  from  histories  and  guide-books;  but  Lady 
Hertford,  living  for  the  most  part  a  retired  life  in  the 
country,  relies  more  upon  her  own  reflections,  and  upon 
such  scraps  of  gossip  as  may  come  her  way ;  conse- 
quently, her  letters  are  more  interesting  as  well  as  more 
illustrative  of  the  social  history  of  her  period  than  are 
those  of  her  friend. 

Her  first  letters  are  dated  from  a  house  in  Windsor 
Forest,  called  St.  Leonard's  Hill,  where  there  was  little 
to  record  except  the  folly  of  the  Duke  of  Maryborough,1 
who  had  bought  a  small  island  at  Bray,  and  built  a 
little  pleasure-house  on  it  in  full  view  and  hearing  of  the 

1  This  was  the  second  Duke  of  Marlborough,  nephew  of  the  great  Duke. 

11 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

bargemen  on  the  river ;  and  the  gallantries  of  the 
young  Duke  of  Cumberland,1  with  which  the  forest  was 
ringing.  A  trip  to  London  in  January  1739  to  attend 
the  Birthday  is  productive  of  little  news  except  that 
the  Duke  of  Marlborough  has  lost  seven  hundred  pounds 
on  Twelfth  Night,  and  that  '  the  Princess  Amelia  was 
on  Banstead  Downs  during  all  the  rain  on  Wednesday 
engaged  in  a  fox-chase.  It  is  a  happy  thing  to  have  so 
robust  a  constitution  as  receives  no  injury  from  such 
Amazonian  entertainments  ;  and  if  the  poor  Queen  were 
not  too  late  an  instance  to  the  contrary,  I  should  begin 
to  fancy  that  princesses  were  not  of  the  same  composi- 
tion with  their  inferiors.1  The  modern  reader  might 
find  Lady  Pomfret's  descriptive  letters  somewhat  tedious, 
but  Lady  Hertford  declares  that  she  passes  no  part  of 
her  time  so  agreeably  as  when  she  is  reading  them,  and 
that  there  is  scarce  a  day  in  which  she  does  not  go 
through  them  more  than  once.  In  one  of  these  absorb- 
ing communications  there  is  an  account  of  a  jaunt  to 
Paris,  which  Lady  Pomfret  describes  as  a  fine  town 
where  the  generality  of  the  people  live  with  more  gaiety 
than  those  of  London. 

'  The  public  diversions,  however,1  she  continues,  '  are 
inferior  to  ours  ;  the  theatres  are  less,  ill-shaped,  and 
worse  ornamented ;  and  though  their  comedians  excel, 
their  music  is  below  that  of  a  dog-kennel.  To  their 
masquerades  they  admit  the  meanest  of  people,  and  the 
greatest  part  are  so  ill-dressed  that  they  rather  resemble 
the  crowd  of  a  mob  than  a  civil  assembly.  As  to  the 
more  private  entertainments  in  particular  houses,  they 
are  very  elegant,  and  have  an  air  of  magnificence  not 
common  in  our  country.  The  dress  of  the  company 
1  The  hero  of  Culloden  was  then  only  eighteen. 

12 


LADY  POMFRET 

makes  a  great  show  ;  and  I  have  been  at  several  balls 
where  in  this  respect  they  far  outshone  some  of  our  latter 
birthdays.  The  different  -  coloured  furs  with  which 
they  trim  their  clothes  in  winter  have  a  nobler  appear- 
ance than  one  can  imagine  without  seeing  them.  But 
to  give  you  an  instance  of  true  French  splendour,  I 
must  conduct  you  to  Versailles,  the  fine  apartments  of 
which,  for  above  these  twenty  years,  have  rather  been 
looked  upon  as  the  monument  of  the  dead  Louis  than 
the  Court  of  the  living  one.  But  all  things  have  their 
period,  and  love,  mighty  love,  has  roused  the  sleeping 
monarch.  He  is  to  Madame  de  Neuilly  the  most  tender 
and  most  submissive  of  men.  He  frequents  and  gives 
entertainments;  and  as  I  was  a  spectator  at  his  Majesty's 
masquerade,  I  must  say  that  I  never  saw  a  more  glorious 
sight  than  his  palace  when  lighted  up  with  more  than 
40,000  wax  candles.  There  never  was  a  greater  plenty 
of  fine  things  to  eat  and  drink,  nor  better  order  in 
the  distribution  of  them,  and  the  constant  attendance 
to  supply  light  and  food  as  each  diminished  was 
admirable/ 

While  Lady  Pomfret  is  slowly  journeying  via  Lyons 
and  Marseilles  to  Sienna,  and  writing  many  sheets 
of  condensed  guide-book  on  the  way,  Lady  Hertford 
indites  a  sort  of  fashionable  and  literary  chronicle  for 
the  amusement  of  her  friend.  Mr.  Pope,  she  records, 
has  lately  thought  fit  to  publish  a  new  volume  of  poems, 
and  she  gives  as  a  specimen  an  epigram  which  had  been 
engraved  upon  the  collar  of  the  Duke  of  Cumberland's 
dog: — 

'  I  am  his  highness'  dog  at  Kew  : 
Pray  tell  me,  sir,  whose  dog  are  you  ? ' 

*  Does  it  not  remind  you,"1  asks  her  ladyship,  *  of  one 

13 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

of  a  more  ancient  date  which  I  believe  is  repeated  in  all 
the  nurseries  in  England  ? — 

e '  Bow,  wow,  wow,  wow, 
Whose  dog  art  thou  ?  " 

'  I  do  not  infer  from  hence  that  Mr.  Pope  finds  him- 
self returning  into  childhood,  and  therefore  imitates  the 
venerable  author  of  the  last,  in  order  to  shine  among 
the  innocent  inhabitants  of  the  apartments  where  his 
works  are  most  in  vogue.  ...  I  have  been  agreeably 
amused  by  reading  Signer  Algarotti's  Newtonianismo  per 
le  Dame,  translated  into  English  in  very  good  style  by  a 
young  woman  not  more  than  twenty  years  old.1  I  am 
well  informed  that  she  is  an  admirable  Greek  and  Latin 
scholar,  and  writes  both  those  languages,  as  well  as 
French  and  Italian,  with  great  elegance.  But  what 
adds  to  the  wonder  she  excites  is  that  all  this  learning 
has  not  made  her  the  less  reasonable  woman,  the  less 
dutiful  daughter,  or  the  less  agreeable  and  faithful 
friend.  ...  I  conclude  you  have  heard  of  Miss  Camp- 
bell's 2  preferment,  who  is  married  to  my  Lord  Bruce. 
She  is  eighteen,  and  he  is  fifty-seven  ;  however,  I  hear 
my  Lady  Suffolk 3  and  Lady  Westmoreland  have  con- 
vinced her  that  she  is  very  happy.  I  cannot  say  that  I 
wish  either  your  daughter  or  my  own  a  happiness  so 
circumstanced.1 

In  June  1739  people  are  talking  of  war,  and  the 
preparations  for  it  engross  a  great  part  of  the  public 
attention,  but  the  enemy  is  as  yet  incognito.  '  Mr. 

1  Elizabeth  Carter. 

2  Caroline  Campbell,  daughter  of  General  John  Campbell,  afterwards 
Duke  of  Argyle.     She  was  the  third  wife  of  Lord  Bruce. 

3  Better  known  as  Mrs.  Howard. 

14 


LADY  POMFRET 

Whitfield  and  his  fellow-Methodists,  we  read,  'are  likewise 
a  subject  of  much  conversation,  and  people  either  espouse 
or  oppose  their  cause  with  a  great  degree  of  warmth. 
With  some  people  he  is  considered  as  a  saint  or  an 
apostle ;  but  with  others  a  hypocrite,  an  enthusiast,  a 
madman,  or  a  blockhead.  My  Lord  Lonsdale,  and 
others  who  have  heard  him,  believe  him  to  be  a  man  of 
great  designs  and  to  have  a  capacity  equal  to  anything. 
.  .  .  At  first  he  and  his  brethren  seemed  only  to  aim 
at  restoring  the  practice  of  the  primitive  Christians 
as  to  daily  sacraments,  stated  fasts,  frequent  prayer, 
relieving  prisoners,  visiting  the  sick,  and  giving  alms  to 
the  poor  ;  but  upon  some  ministers  refusing  these  men 
their  pulpits,  they  have  betaken  themselves  to  preaching 
in  the  fields ;  and  they  have  such  crowds  of  followers 
they  have  set  all  the  clergy  in  the  kingdom  in  a  flame. 
.  .  .  The  Bishop  of  London  has  thought  it  necessary  to 
write  a  pastoral  letter,  to  warn  the  people  of  his  diocese 
from  being  led  away  by  them,  though  at  the  same  time 
he  treats  them  personally  with  great  tenderness  and 
moderation.  I  cannot  say  Dr.  Trapp  has  done  as  much 
in  a  sermon  entitled  "  The  Great  Folly  and  Danger  of 
being  Righteous  overmuch,"  a  doctrine  which  does  not 
seem  absolutely  necessary  to  be  preached  to  the  people 
of  the  present  age.  What  appears  to  be  most  blamable 
in  the  Methodists  is  the  uncharitable  opinions  they 
entertain  in  regard  to  the  salvation  of  all  who  do 
not  think  and  live  after  their  way.  The  recorder  of 
Bristol  says  that  Mr.  Whitfield  has  been  much  among 
the  colliers  in  that  neighbourhood,  and  has  collected  so 
much  money  from  them  as  to  erect  a  building  large 
enough  to  contain  five  thousand  people.  It  is  to  serve 
them  as  a  church  and  schoolhouse.  He  says  also  they 

15 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

are  so  much  reformed  in  their  manners  that  one  may  pass 
a  whole  day  among  them  without  hearing  an  oath/ 

Meanwhile  Lady  Pomfret  has  arrived  at  Sienna  after 
a  perilous  voyage  from  Marseilles  to  Genoa.  '  Imagine 
me,1  she  exclaims,  '  embarked  in  bad  weather  on  board  a 
small  tottering  boat,  the  Mediterranean  raging,  and  the 
mariners  frightened  out  of  their  wits ;  with  great  diffi- 
culty getting  to  shore  at  Savona,  where  we  stayed  three 
days  for  want  of  a  wind,  with  stinking  victuals,  no  wine, 
and  beds  worse  than  none ;  after  this  setting  out  in  a 
storm,  with  the  sea  coming  into  the  boat  the  whole  way, 
and  arriving  at  last  at  Genoa.1  Lady  Pomfret  was 
charmed  with  Genoa,  and  extols  the  gracious  Italian 
custom  of  placing  a  foreign  visitor  under  the  protection 
of  a  native  lady,  whose  office  it  was  to  act  as  a  social 
cicerone  to  her  charge.  <  As  I  did  not  like  play,1  she 
writes,  '  the  Signora  Durazzi,  a  woman  of  infinite  wit 
and  agreeable  conversation,  always  entertained  me ;  for 
it  is  not  here,  as  in  France,  that  you  must  pay  the  lady 
of  the  house,  or  never  get  into  it.  ...  I  am  very 
proud  of  the  genius  that  honours  our  sex  in  the  person 
of  the  young  woman  you  mention  [Elizabeth  Carter], 
and  in  return  will  inform  you  of  a  parallel  to  her.  This 
is  another  female  [Signora  Bassi],  of  about  twenty-four, 
of  mean  birth,  but  of  such  superior  knowledge  and 
capacity  that  she  has  been  elected  the  philosophy  pro- 
fessor at  Bologna,  where  she  now  gives  lectures  as  such.1 

The  Hertfords1  house  in  Windsor  Forest  being  much 
out  of  repair,  in  the  course  of  this  year  they  bought 
from  Lord  Bathurst,  the  friend  and  patron  of  many 
poets,1  the  estate  of  Richkings  near  Colnbrook,  which 

1  Pope  addressed  to  Bathurst  the  third  of  his  moral  essays,  '  On  the 
Use  of  Riches,'  and  Sterne  drew  his  portrait  in  the  '  Letters  to  Eliza.' 

16 


LADY  POMFRET 

Pope  had  called  his  '  extravagante  bergerie."1  The  sur- 
roundings, says  Lady  Hertford,  perfectly  answer  that 
title,  and  come  nearer  her  idea  of  a  scene  in  Arcadia 
than  any  place  she  ever  saw.  Not  only  was  there  a 
boat,  a  cave,  a  greenhouse  to  drink  tea  in,  but,  more 
delightful  still  in  the  eyes  of  a  literary  lady,  there  was 
4  an  old  covered  bench  in  the  garden,  which  has  many 
remains  of  the  wit  of  my  Lord  Bathursfs  visitors,  who 
inscribed  verses  upon  it.  Here  is  the  writing  of  Pope, 
Prior,  Congreve,  Gay,  and  (what  he  esteemed  no  less) 
of  several  great  ladies.  I  cannot  say  that  the  verses 
answered  my  expectations  from  such  authors ;  we  have, 
however,  all  resolved  to  follow  the  fashion,  and  to  add 
some  of  ours  to  the  collection.  That  you  may  not  be 
surprised  at  our  courage  in  daring  to  write  after  such 
great  names,  I  will  transcribe  one  of  the  old  ones,  which 
I  think  as  good  as  any  of  them  : — 

' '  Who  set  the  trees  shall  he  remember 
That  is  in  haste  to  fell  the  timber  ? 
What  then  shall  of  thy  woods  remain 
Except  the  box  that  threw  the  main  ?  " ' 

In  January  1740  Lady  Pomfret  has  arrived  at 
Florence,  which  she  much  prefers  to  the  dearness  and 
dulness  of  Sienna ;  and  has  received  civilities  from 
Horace  Walpole,  then  on  his  travels,  from  his  notorious 
sister-in-law  Lady  Walpole,  and  from  Mr.  (afterwards 
Sir  Horace)  Mann.  From  this  time  forward  we  get  an 
occasional  report  of  her  ladyship's  sayings  and  doings,  as 
well  as  of  the  flirtations  of  her  handsome  daughters,  the 
Ladies  Fermor,  in  the  letters  of  Horace  Walpole.  Among 
Lady  Pomfrefs  early  visits  at  Florence  was  one  to  the 
Electress  Palatine,  the  only  survivor  of  the  House  of 
Medici.  This  lady  was  generally  thought  proud  and 
B  17 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

forbidding ;  *  but  to  me,'  writes  this  particular  visitor, 
'  she  was  easy  and  entertaining.  She  kept  me  ten  times 
longer  than  her  usual  audiences,  and  talked  over  my  own 
family  and  that  of  our  Court,  one  by  one.  .  .  .  When 
I  departed  her  Lord-Chamberlain  followed  me  a  room 
further  than  usual ;  and  she  has  since  done  me  the 
honour  to  say  to  others  that  my  behaviour  had  given 
her  no  ill  opinion  of  the  English  Court.' 

Lady  Pomfret  prides  herself  upon  having  discovered 
a  very  scarce  and  valuable  book,  of  which  there  is  but 
one  copy  to  be  sold  in  Florence  at  a  price  too  great  for 
her  to  give.  This  is  the  novels  of  Bandello,1  which, 
however,  was  less  scarce  than  she  imagined  ;  for  Lady 
Hertford  replies  that  she  has  just  been  reading  this 
book,  of  which  a  new  edition  was  about  to  be  published 
in  London.  She  offers,  with  a  touch  of  patronage,  to 
procure  a  copy  for  Lady  Pomfret,  as  well  as  a  copy  of 
the  papers  of  Thurloe,  Cromwell's  secretary,  which  were 
to  be  published  by  subscription.  Then  follows  a  little 
fling  at  Mr.  Pope,  who  was  evidently  not  one  of  the 
tame  poets  who  were  invited  to  correct  their  hostess's 
verses  on  summer  visits  :  — 

'The  severity  of  the  weather  [February  1740]  has 
occasioned  greater  sums  to  be  given  in  charity  than  was 
ever  heard  of  before.  Mr.  Pope  has  written  two  stanzas 
on  the  occasion,  which  I  must  send  you  because  they 
are  his,  for  they  have  no  merit  to  entitle  them  to  be 
conveyed  so  far  : — 

'  "  Yes  ! — 'tis  the  time,"  I  cried,  "  impose  the  chain 

Destined  and  due  to  wretches  self-enslaved  ; 
But  when  I  saw  such  charity  remain, 

I  half  could  wish  this  people  should  be  saved. 

1  Born  1480,  died  1562.     His  novels  were  published  in  1554. 

18 


LADY  POMFRET 

Faith  lost,  and  hope,  our  charity  begins, 
And  is  a  wise  design  of  pitying  heaven — 

If  this  can  cover  multitudes  of  sins, 
To  take  the  only  way  to  be  forgiven."  ' 

In  a  letter  dated  May  1,  1740,  Lady  Hertford 
complains :  '  We  talk  of  nothing  but  encampments, 
bringing  in  Spanish  prizes,  taking  forts,  and  such-like 
heroic  exploits,  and  this  eternal  turn  of  conversation 
makes  me  envy  the  description  given  in  the  First  Book 
of  Kings  of  Solomon's  people  who  dwell  safely,  each 
under  his  own  vine  and  fig  tree.' 

Lady  Pomfret  deals  conscientiously,  and  at  great 
length,  with  the  churches  and  galleries  of  Florence,  but 
she  is  more  readable  when  she  describes  the  characters 
and  customs  of  Florentine  society.  In  one  letter  there 
is  a  curious  sketch  of  the  old  Marchese  Riccardi,  a  rich 
and  eccentric  personage,  who  also  figures  in  Walpole's 
correspondence.  *  He  has  a  fine  palace,'  we  read,  '  full 
of  the  best  pictures,  statuary,  and  furniture  in  Florence, 
as  well  as  a  noble  collection  of  books,  medals,  intaglios, 
cameos,  and  so  vast  a  quantity  of  plate  that  it  appears 
like  the  furniture  of  a  sovereign  prince.  This  man's 
dress  and  person  greatly  resemble  those  of  an  old 
broken-down  shopkeeper.  The  object  of  his  constant 
attention  is  news  of  every  kind ;  and  in  order  to  retain 
what  he  learns,  he  keeps  a  great  number  of  people  who 
have  filled  hundreds  of  volumes  with  his  observations, 
or  rather  his  collections.  He  has  correspondents  in  all 
parts  of  Europe,  in  order  to  be  informed  who  gives 
dinners  or  balls,  who  are  invited,  what  the  dishes  are, 
how  every  person  is  drest,  etc.  He  regularly  goes  out 
every  morning  and  evening,  attended  by  six  footmen,  and 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  has  not  one  left,  dispersing 

19 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

them  all  into  different  parts  of  the  town  to  get  at 
these  remarkable  intelligences,  which  are  no  sooner 
obtained  than  they  are  committed  to  writing  by  his 
secretaries.' 

In  another  letter  Lady  Pomfret  writes  with  great 
delight  of  an  improvisation  which  had  been  arranged 
for  her  at  the  house  of  an  Italian  friend.  '  A  man  and 
a  woman  (the  former  celebrated  for  his  learning,  and  the 
latter  for  her  genius)  maintained  a  dialogue  to  music. 
I  was  requested  to  give  the  subject,  and  I  proposed  the 
question,  "  Why  are  women  generally  more  constant  than 
men?"  They  began,  and  with  an  infinite  deal  of  wit  on 
both  sides  they  each  supported  their  opinions  with  quota- 
tions from  both  sacred  and  profane  history,  which  they 
applied  in  a  most  lively  and  varied  manner  for  near  two 
hours,  without  any  pauses  more  than  were  necessary  for  the 
music.  I  wished  to  have  their  composition  in  writing ; 
but  they  told  me  that  was  impossible,  for  were  they  to 
begin  again  immediately,  they  should  not  be  able  to 
repeat  what  they  had  said  before.  In  this  woman  there 
is  something  very  extraordinary  and  interesting.  The 
Princess  Violante,  driving  one  day  in  the  country,  heard 
her  singing  as  she  spun ;  and  being  then  but  seventeen, 
she  was  immediately  taken  to  Court,  where  she  was 
advanced  to  be  dresser.  In  this  situation,  though  her 
genius  has  improved,  her  humility  and  virtue  have  not 
decreased,  but  she  has  lived  with  the  esteem  and  love  of 
every  one  who  has  known  her.  She  is  married  to  a 
substantial  tradesman,  and  enjoys  a  small  fortune,  which 
she  owes  to  the  bounty  of  the  princess ;  and  from  a 
respect  to  her  memory  and  commands,  she  has  refused 
all  proposals  for  performing  in  public/ 

Horace  Walpole,  writing  from  Florence  to  his  cousin, 
20 


LADY  POMFRET 

Mr.  Conway,  in  July  1740,  says  :  '  Lady  Pomfret  has  a 
charming  conversation  once  a  week.  She  has  taken  a 
vast  palace  and  a  vast  garden,  which  is  vastly  commode, 
especially  to  the  cicisbeo  part  of  mankind,  who  have 
free  indulgence  to  wander  in  pairs  about  the  arbours. 
You  know  her  daughters :  Lady  Sophia  is  still,  nay, 
she  must  be,  the  beauty  she  was ;  Lady  Charlotte  is 
much  improved,  and  is  the  cleverest  girl  in  the  world, 
speaks  the  purest  Tuscan  like  any  Florentine.  .  .  . 
On  Wednesday  we  expect  a  third  she-meteor.  Those 
learned  luminaries,  the  Ladies  Pomfret  and  Walpole, 
are  to  be  joined  by  the  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu. 
You  have  not  been  witness  to  the  rhapsody  of  mystic 
nonsense  which  these  two  fair  ones  debate  incessantly, 
and  consequently  cannot  figure  what  must  be  the  issue 
of  this  triple  alliance  ;  we  have  some  idea  of  it.  Only 
figure  the  coalition  of  prudery,  debauchery,  sentiment, 
history,  Greek,  Latin,  French,  Italian,  and  metaphysics; 
all,  except  the  second,  understood  by  halves,  by  quarters, 
or  not  at  all.  You  shall  have  the  journals  of  this 
notable  academy/ 

Lady  Mary  was  a  correspondent  of  Lady  PomfretX 
and  had  professed  to  come  to  Italy  in  1739  in  order 
to  be  near  her  friend ;  but  as  she  had  stayed  several 
months  at  Venice  on  her  way  to  Florence,  the  compli- 
ment had  lost  some  of  its  flattery.  Lady  Hertford  is 
evidently  keenly  interested  in  all  that  relates  to  her 
sister-scribe,  with  whom  she  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  personally  acquainted.  In  writing  to  thank  Lady 
Pomfret  for  sending  her  Lady  Mary's  essay  on  La 
Ilochefoucault's  maxim,  *  Qu'il  y  a  des  manages  com- 
modes mais  point  de  delicieux,1  she  observes : — 

'  I  own  it  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  find  a  person 

21 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

with  more  wit  than  Rochefoucault  himself  undertaking 
to  confute  any  of  his  maxims ;  for  I  have  long  enter- 
tained an  aversion  to  them,  and  lamented  in  secret  that 
a  man  of  his  genius  should  indulge  so  invidious  an 
inclination  as  that  of  putting  his  readers  out  of  conceit 
with  the  virtuous  actions  of  their  neighbours,  and 
scarcely  allowing  them  to  find  a  happiness  in  their  own. 
.  .  .  Montaigne  is  another  author  whom  I  cannot 
sincerely  admire,  and  I  never  see  a  volume  of  his  work 
lie  on  the  table  of  a  person  whom  I  wish  to  be  my 
friend  without  concern.  If  I  were  to  educate  a  child  to 
be  suspicious,  splenetic,  and  censorious,  I  would  put 
those  authors  into  his  hands ;  and  in  order  to  prepare 
him  to  read  them  with  a  proper  relish,  instead  of  the 
History  of  the  Seven  Champions,  or  the  exploits  of 
Robin  Hood,  Gulliver's  Travels  should  be  put  into  his 
hands ;  and  when  he  had  a  mind  to  sing,  the  ballads  of 
"  Chevy  Chase,"  or  the  "  Children  in  the  Wood,"  should 
be  laid  aside,  and  some  of  Dean  Swift's  modern  poetry 
should  be  set  to  music  to  supply  their  place.  I  own 
when  I  see  people  delight  in  painting  human  nature  in 
such  sombre  colours  I  am  apt  to  believe  they  are  giving 
us  the  picture  of  their  own  minds ;  for  a  man  of  true 
virtue  and  benevolence  would  not  find  it  easy  to  persuade 
himself  that  there  are  such  characters  in  the  world  as 
these  gentlemen  seem  pleased  to  exhibit  to  us.' 

With  some  rather  pessimistic  and  sceptical  verses  of 
Lady  Mary's,  Lady  Hertford  is  much  less  pleased, 
remarking  that  it  was  a  pity  the  writer  did  not  look 
into  the  New  Testament  for  the  conviction  that  she 
sought  in  vain  from  pagan  authors.  '  How  agreeable 
and  just,'  responds  Lady  Pomfret,  '  are  your  reflections 
upon  the  verses  I  sent  you  !  What  pity  and  terror  does 
22 


LADY  POMFRET 

it  create  to  see  wit,  beauty,  nobility,  and  riches,  after  a 
full  possession  of  fifty  years,  talk  that  language,  and 
talk  it  so  feelingly  that  all  who  read  must  know  it 
comes  from  the  heart !  But  indeed,  dear  madam,  you 
make  me  smile  when  you  propose  putting  the  New 
Testament  into  the  hands  of  the  author.  Pray,  how 
should  you  or  I  receive  Hobbes'  Philosophy  if  she,  with 
all  her  eloquence,  should  recommend  it  for  our  instruc- 
tion ?  I  remember  having  heard  a  very  observing 
person  say  that  our  first  twenty  years  belong  to  our 
hearts,  and  the  next  twenty  to  our  heads ;  meaning  that 
till  the  first  are  over,  the  adorning  of  our  persons,  and 
love,  occupy  most  of  our  thoughts,  and  that  the  other 
twenty  by  degrees  form  our  minds,  and  settle  certain 
principles  which  seldom  or  never  change.  According  to 
this  rule,  Lady  Mary  Wortley  has  been  ten  years  (at 
least)  immovably  fixed.  I  therefore  have  contented 
myself  with  the  amusement  that  arose  from  the  genius 
which  God  Almighty  has  bestowed  upon  her,  leaving  to 
her  the  care  and  consequence  of  being  grateful  to  the 
donor.' 

A  lurid  light  is  thrown  on  the  manners  of  the  golden 
youth  of  Italy  and  England  a  century  and  a  half  ago  by 
a  couple  of  anecdotes  related  in  these  letters.  The  first 
is  told  by  Lady  Pomfret,  and  deals  with  the  behaviour 
of  a  young  Guadagni  to  the  Marchesa  Corsi,  grand- 
daughter of  old  Riccardi.  The  young  man  treated  his 
Jiancee  so  roughly  during  the  time  of  their  betrothal, 
telling  her  that  she  '  danced  like  a  devil,1  and  that  he 
should  lock  her  up  after  the  marriage,  that  she  broke  off 
her  engagement,  a  proceeding  almost  without  precedent 
in  Florentine  society.  Lady  Hertford  caps  this  story 
with  the  following  account  of  the  conduct  of  Lord 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

Euston,  son  of  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  to  his  betrothed, 
Lady  Dorothy  Boyle,  daughter  of  Lord  Burlington,  the 
'  architect  Earl ' : — 

'  Though  Lady  Dorothy,  besides  her  vast  fortune,  is 
said  to  have  all  the  good  sense  and  gentleness  of  temper 
that  can  be  desired  in  a  wife,  and  has  so  fine  a  face  that 
were  her  person  answerable  to  it,  one  could  hardly 
imagine  anything  more  beautiful ;  yet  he  takes  every 
opportunity  to  show  his  contempt  and  even  aversion  for 
her,  while  she  entertains  very  different  sentiments  for 
him,  which,  notwithstanding  the  great  modesty  of  her 
temper,  she  cannot  always  conceal.  Amongst  the  many 
balls  that  were  given  last  spring,  there  was  a  very  mag- 
nificent one  at  the  Duke  of  Norfolk's,  where  I  saw  so 
many  instances  of  the  slighting  manner  in  which  he 
treated  her,  and  of  her  attention  to  him,  as  raised  both 
my  indignation  and  my  pity.  But  I  heard  that  at 
another  ball  he  carried  his  impoliteness  much  further ; 
for  when  the  company  was  sitting  at  supper,  after 
looking  upon  her  for  some  time  in  a  very  odd  manner, 
he  said,  "  Lady  Dorothy,  how  greedily  you  eat !  It  is 
no  wonder  that  you  are  so  fat.1'  This  unexpected  com- 
pliment made  her  blush  extremely,  and  brought  the 
tears  to  her  eyes.  My  Lady  Burlington,  who  sat  near 
enough  to  hear  what  passed,  and  see  the  effect  it  had 
upon  her  daughter,  coloured  as  much  as  the  young  lady, 
and  immediately  answered,  "  It  is  true,  my  lord,  that  she 
is  fat,  and  I  hope  she  will  always  be  so,  for  it  is  her 
constitution,  and  she  will  never  be  lean  until  she  is  less 
happy  than  we  have  always  tried  to  make  her,  which  I 
shall  endeavour  to  prevent  her  being.1'  Those  last  words 
were  spoken  in  a  tone  which  gave  the  company  reason 
to  believe  that  her  ladyship's  eyes  were  at  last  opened  to 
24, 


LADY  POMFRET 

what  everybody  else  had  seen  too  long.  ...  I  know  of 
nothing  since  but  that  they  are  not  married,  and  indeed 
I  hope  they  never  will  be  so.  Were  the  young  lady  my 
daughter,  I  should  with  less  reluctance  prepare  for  her 
funeral  than  for  such  a  marriage.1 

There  is  something  like  a  prophetic  ring  in  those 
words,  for  poor  Lady  Dorothy  was  married  to  Lord 
Euston  in  October  1741,  and  died  from  his  ill  treat- 
ment of  her  six  months  later,  being  then  only  just 
eighteen.  Horace  Walpole,  writing  to  Sir  Horace  Mann 
only  a  fortnight  after  the  marriage,  says  :  *  I  wrote  you 
word  that  Lord  Euston  is  married ;  in  a  week  more  I 
believe  I  shall  write  you  word  that  he  is  divorced.  He 
is  brutal  enough,  and  has  forbid  Lady  Burlington  his 
house,  and  that  in  very  ungentle  terms  !  The  whole 
family  is  in  confusion,  the  Duke  of  Grafton  half  dead, 
and  Lord  Burlington  half  mad.  The  latter  has  chal- 
lenged Lord  Euston,  who  accepted  the  challenge,  but 
they  were  prevented.  .  .  .  Do  you  not  pity  the  poor 
girl,  of  the  softest  temper,  vast  beauty,  birth,  and 
fortune,  to  be  so  sacrificed  ?  "*  After  Lady  Dorothy's 
death  her  mother  painted  a  portrait  of  her  from  memory, 
on  which  was  placed  the  following  inscription  : — 

LADY  DOROTHY  BOYLE. 
Born  May  the  14th,  1724. 

She  was  the  comfort  and  joy  of  her  parents,  the  delight  of 
all  who  knew  her  angelick  temper,  and  the  admiration  of  all 
who  saw  her  beauty. 

She  was  married  October  the  10th,  1741,  and  delivered  (by 
death)  from  misery, 

May  the  2nd,  1742. 

This  portrait  was  afterwards  engraved,  and  prints 
were  distributed  by  Lady  Burlington  to  all  her  friends. 

25 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

The  inscription,  of  which  two  versions  are  quoted  by 
Walpole,  is  said  to  have  been  written  by  Pope. 

The  present  of  a  pair  of  alabaster  vases  from  Lady 
Pomfret  to  Lady  Hertford  calls  forth  a  letter  of  thanks 
which  may  be  taken  as  a  typical  specimen  of  the  ac- 
knowledgment which  the  good  breeding  of  the  period 
demanded  in  return  for  even  a  trifling  gift.  '  There  is,1 
writes  the  recipient  of  the  vases,  '  an  elegance  in  them 
superior  to  anything  I  ever  saw  ;  and  yet,  estimable  and 
beautiful  as  they  are  in  themselves,  their  being  a  mark 
of  your  friendship  enhances  their  value  to  me  even 
beyond  their  own  merit.  I  sit  and  look  at  them  with 
admiration  for  an  hour  together.  ...  I  have  not  a 
room  in  the  house  worthy  of  them  ;  no  furniture  good 
enough  to  suit  with  them  ;  in  short,  I  find  a  thousand 
wants  that  never  entered  my  head  before.  I  am  grown 
ambitious  all  at  once,  and  want  to  change  my  bergerie 
for  a  palace,  and  to  ransack  all  the  cabinets  in  Europe 
for  paintings,  sculptures,  and  other  curiosities  to  place 
with  them.1  This  letter  belongs  to  the  same  genus  as 
that  written  by  the  Princess  Craon  to  Horace  Walpole, 
in  which,  after  thanking  him  for  some  bagatelles  he  has 
sent  her,  she  concludes  :  '  The  generosity  of  your  friend- 
ship for  me,  sir,  leaves  me  nothing  to  desire  of  all  that 
is  precious  in  England,  China,  and  the  Indies  ! '  Even 
Lady  Pomfret,  herself  a  phrase-monger,  seems  to  have 
been  a  little  overwhelmed  by  her  friend's  gratitude,  for 
she  replies,  'You  quite  confound  me,  dear  madam, 
with  the  encomiums  you  bestow  upon  a  couple  of  ala- 
baster vases,  fit  only  for  the  obscurity  of  a  grotto ;  and 
very  justly  make  me  blush  for  having  sent  so  trifling  a 
present.1 

In  November  1740  Lady  Hertford  writes  that  she  is 
26 


LADY  POMFRET 

going  to  town  for  the  winter,  her  lord  being  so  subject 
to  attacks  of  the  gout  at  this  season — the  result  pro- 
bably of  his  revellings  with  Thomson  and  others — that 
she  thinks  it  best  he  should  be  near  skilled  advice. 
'  Otherwise,1  she  continues,  '  I  confess  that  a  winter 
passed  in  the  country  has  in  it  nothing  terrible  to  my 
apprehension.  I  find  our  lawns  (though  at  present 
covered  with  snow)  a  more  agreeable  prospect  than 
dirty  streets,  and  our  sheep-bells  more  musical  than  the 
noise  of  hawkers.  I  fear  my  taste  is  so  depraved  that 
I  am  as  well  pleased  while  I  am  distributing  tares  to 
my  pigeons,  or  barley  to  my  poultry,  and  to  the  robin 
redbreasts  and  thrushes  that  hop  under  my  window,  as 
I  shall  be  when  I  am  playing  cards  in  an  assembly,  or 

even  in  the '     The  blank  which  discretion  dictated 

in  the  days  when  the  post-office  suffered  from  political 
curiosity  may  probably  be  filled  up  by  the  word 
'  Court.' 

That  Lady  Hertford's  taste  was  in  some  respects  in 
advance  of  her  age  is  proved  by  the  regret  she  expresses 
at  the  prevailing  rage  for  pulling  down  venerable  castles 
and  abbeys,  and  replacing  them  by  modern  Gothic. 
She  attributes  her  unfashionable  love  of  ancient  build- 
ings to  the  fact  that  she  spent  her  early  childhood  at 
Longleat,  parts  of  which  dated  from  the  reign  of  Edward 
the  Sixth,  and  which  is  said  to  have  been  the  first  well- 
built  private  house  erected  in  England.  '  Though  I 
was  only  nine  when  my  father  died,'  she  continues,  '  I 
still  remember  his  lamenting  that  my  grandfather  had 
taken  down  the  Gothic  windows  on  the  first  floor  and 
put  up  sashes,  in  order  to  have  a  better  view  of  his 
garden.  As  soon  as  the  present  Lord  Weymouth  mar- 
ried and  came  to  live  here,  he  ordered  the  sashes  to  be 

27 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

pulled  down  and  the  old  windows  to  be  restored.  I 
flattered  myself  that  this  was  a  good  omen  of  his  regard 
for  a  seat  which  for  two  hundred  years  had  been  the 
delight  and  pride  of  his  ancestors.  But,  alas !  how 
short-lived  is  human  judgment !  Longleat,  with  its 
gardens,  park,  and  manor,  is  mortgaged  (though  its 
owner  never  plays)  to  gamesters  and  usurers  for 
£25,000.  So  that  probably  in  twenty  years1  time,  as 
Mr.  Pope  says,  it  may  "slide  to  a  scrivener  or  city 
knight/1  which  I  must  own  would  mortify  me  exceed- 
ingly, notwithstanding  the  assertion  of  the  same  author 
that  "  Whatever  is,  is  right."  '  Fortunately  this  gloomy 
prophecy  was  not  fulfilled  ;  for  Lady  Hertford's  cousin, 
the  second  Viscount  Weymouth,  died  in  1751,  when 
Longleat  descended  to  his  son,  afterwards  created 
Marquis  of  Bath. 

A  letter  from  London,  dated  Christmas  Day  1740, 
contains  an  amusing  description  of  the  difficulties  of 
social  entertainers  in  the  days  when  party  feeling  ran 
inordinately  high.  '  It  is  so  unfashionable  to  pass  this 
season  in  London,1  writes  Lady  Hertford,  'that  the 
streets  seem  quite  depopulated.  All  the  young,  the 
gay,  and  the  polite  are  retired  to  their  villas  to  serious 
parties  of  whist  and  cornette ;  and  the  politicians  are 
gone  to  their  several  boroughs  to  make  converts  and 
drunkards.  .  .  .  The  Dukes  of  Queensberry  and  Bed- 
ford, Lords  Holdernesse,  Rochford,  Conway,  Brooke, 
and  others  set  on  foot  a  subscription  for  a  ball  once 
a  week  at  Heidegger's  rooms.  Every  subscriber  had 
liberty  to  invite  a  lady  and  a  married  man,  and  every 
lady  was  to  bring  a  married  woman  by  way  of  chaperon. 
For  these  last  there  were  tables  and  cards  provided,  and 
a  magnificent  supper  for  the  whole  company.  Monday 
28 


LADY  POMFRET 

was  the  first,  and  is  likely  to  prove  the  last ;  for  the 
day  before,  the  Duchess  of  Queensberry  1  found  it  neces- 
sary to  desire  that  my  Lord  Conway  would  send  word 
to  Sir  Robert  Walpole  to  keep  away,  because  if  he  did 
not,  neither  she  nor  any  of  her  friends  would  come. 
My  Lord  Conway  very  politely  said  that  he  should  be 
exceedingly  sorry  to  lose  so  great  an  honour  and  orna- 
ment as  she  would  have  been  to  the  entertainment,  but 
that  neither  his  good  breeding  nor  his  inclination  would 
permit  him  to  send  so  mortifying  a  message  to  his  uncle. 
An  hour  or  two  afterwards  she  sent  word  that  if  Lord 
Conway  would  undertake  for  Sir  Robert's  absence  she 
would  take  care  that  Mr.  Pulteney  should  also  keep 
away.  In  reply,  Lord  Conway  said  that  he  was  so  far 
from  desiring  any  such  bargain,  that  he  should  be  ex- 
tremely glad  of  Mr.  Pulteney's  company.  Her  Grace  at 
last  desisted,  and  brought  herself  to  endure  the  sight  of 
the  minister ;  but  took  care  to  show  that  it  was  so  much 
a  contre-coeur  as  to  cast  a  cloud  on  the  whole  assembly. 
This  conduct  has  made  the  greater  part  of  the  sub- 
scribers resolve  to  withdraw  their  names  and  spend  no 
more  money,  since  they  have  no  better  prospect  than 
that  of  being  forced  to  shock  some  people  and  disoblige 
others,  when  they  were  only  ambitious  to  amuse.'1 

In  the  spring  of  1741  Lady  Pomfret  is  in  Rome, 
painstakingly  '  doing ""  the  sights  and  ceremonies  of  the 
Holy  City.  But  she  finds  time  to  thank  her  friend  for 
her  letters  and  a  copy  of  original  verses  with  as  much 
hyperbole  as  were  ever  bestowed  upon  the  alabaster 
vases.  *  How  agreeable  you  can  make  even  the  disorder 
of  factious  envy  ! '  she  exclaims.  '  But  how  much  above 
all  praise  is  your  verse  !  such  sentiments  !  such  language  ! 
1  This  was,  of  course,  Prior's  '  Kitty.' 

29 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

such  goodness  for  me !  I  have  read  it  three  times  over, 
and  can  now  only  leave  to  thank  you  for  it ;  but  to  do 
that  no  words  are  sufficient,  unless,  like  you,  I  could 
make  a  Clio  attend  me  whenever  I  pleased  ;  and  were 
that  in  my  power,  I  do  assure  you  I  should  think  I 
repaid  her  gifts  when  I  employed  them  on  so  noble  a 
subject  as  doing  justice  to  your  merit,  which  you  treat 
too  lightly.1 

The  reader  may  be  curious  to  see  the  verses  which 
evoked  such  ecstatic  praise.  The  following  lines  are  a 
characteristic  specimen,  not  only  of  the  poem  in  question, 
but  of  Lady  Hertford's  genius.  She  is  writing  of  Rich- 
kings,  which  Lord  Bathurst  had  arranged  as  a  retreat  for 
statesmen,  poets,  and  the  beauties  of  the  Court : — 

'  For  such  he  formed  the  well-contrived  design, 
Nor  knew  that  Fate  (perverse)  had  marked  it  mine. 
Amazing  turn  !    Could  human  eyes  foresee 
That  Bathurst  planted,  schemed,  and  built  for  me  ?  . 

That  he  whose  genius  vast  designs  engaged, 
Whom  business  surfeited,  and  rest  enraged, 
Should  range  those  alleys,  bend  those  blooming  bow'rs, 
To  shelter  me  in  my  declining  hours  ? 

He  to  whom  China's  wall  would  seem  a  bound 
Too  narrow  for  his  thoughts'  inclusive  round  ; 
Who,  in  the  senate,  Tully's  fame  would  reach, 
In  courts,  magnificence  to  Paris  teach  ; 
In  deep  philosophy  with  Plato  vie, 
With  Newton,  follow  meteors  through  the  sky  ; 
With  gay  Demetrius  charm  (and  leave  ! )  the  fair, 
Yet,  with  good  breeding,  shield  them  from  despair. 
Again,  I  ask,  could  human  eyes  foresee 
That  such  a  one  should  plant  and  build  for  me  ? 
For  me  whom  Nature  soberly  designed 
With  nothing  striking  in  my  face  or  mind  ; 
Just  fitted  for  a  plain  domestic  life, 
A  tender  parent  and  contented  wife.  .  .  .' 
30 


LADY  POMFRET 

Lord  Bathurst  was  evidently  an  object  of  interest  to 
feminine  poets ;  for  Lady  Hertford,  in  another  letter, 
acknowledges  the  receipt  of  a  poetical  epistle  to  his 
lordship,  written  by  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu.  '  It 
is,'  she  observes,  '  a  very  just  picture  of  my  Lord 
Bathursfs  importance  and  pursuits.  I  begin  to  fear 
that  the  air  of  Richkings  is  whimsically  infectious  ;  for 
its  former  owner  had  scarcely  more  projects  than  my 
lord  and  myself  find  continually  springing  up  in  our 
minds  about  improvements  here.  Yesterday  I  was  busy 
in  buying  paper  to  furnish  a  little  closet  in  that  house 
where  I  spend  the  greatest  part  of  my  time ;  and  what 
will  seem  more  strange,  bespeaking  a  paper  ceiling  for 
a  room  which  my  lord  has  built  in  one  of  the  woods. 
The  perfection  which  the  manufacture  of  that  commodity 
is  arrived  at  in  the  last  few  years  is  surprising.  The 
master  of  the  warehouse  told  me  that  he  is  to  make 
some  paper  at  the  price  of  twelve  or  thirteen  shillings 
a  yard  for  two  different  gentlemen.  I  saw  some  at  four 
shillings,  but  contented  myself  with  that  of  only  eleven- 
pence, which  I  think  is  enough  to  have  it  very  pretty, 
and  I  have  no  idea  of  paper  furniture  being  very  rich. 
I  enclose  you  some  verses  by  Mrs.  Carter,  who  gave  them 
to  me.  She  was  here  the  other  morning,  and  surprised 
me  with  her  looks  and  conversation.  The  former 
resemble  those  of  Hebe ;  the  latter  has  a  tendency 
to  a  little  pedantry  ;  however,  she  certainly  has  real 
and  extensive  learning.' 

Lady  Pomfret  describes  with  her  usual  prolixity,  and 

— if  Horace  Wai  pole  be  accepted  as  a  critic — infelicity, 

the  Easter  ceremonies  at  Rome ;  but  more  interesting 

is  a  passing  reference  to  a   meeting   with   a   tall,  fair 

young  man  called  '  il   Principle,1  who  was  none  other 

31 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

than  the  Chevalier  de  St.  George  alias  the  Young 
Pretender.  Another  historical  character  then  living  at 
Rome  was  '  my  Lady  Nithsdale,  who  managed  so  cleverly 
in  getting  her  husband  out  of  the  Tower  the  night  before 
he  was  to  have  been  beheaded.  She  is  now  grown  very 
old,  but  has  been  much  of  a  woman  of  quality,  and  is  in 
great  esteem  here.'  Lord  Nithsdale,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, was  impeached  for  treason  in  1715,  and  escaped 
from  the  Tower  in  a  woman's  dress,  conveyed  to  him 
by  his  wife. 

In  March  1741  the  Pomfrets  set  out  upon  a  leisurely 
journey  home,  stopping  a  few  days  at  most  of  the  places 
of  interest  on  their  route.  At  Bologna,  Lady  Pomfret 
was  taken  to  the  house  of  the  famous  feminine  professor, 
Signora  Laura  Bassi.1  *  She  is  not  yet  thirty,1  we  read, 
4  and  did  not  begin  to  study  till  she  was  sixteen,  when, 
having  a  serious  illness  and  being  attended  by  a  physician 
who  was  a  man  of  great  learning,  he  perceived  her  genius, 
and  began  to  instruct  her  with  such  success  that  she  is 
able  now  to  dispute  with  any  person  whatever  on  the 
most  sublime  points.  This  she  does  with  so  much 
unaffected  modesty,  and  such  strength  of  reason  as  must 
please  all  hearers,  of  which  number  we  were;  for  the 
Signora  Gozzadini,  who  is  herself  very  clever  and  pro- 
digiously obliging,  had  got  two  doctors  to  meet  us  here. 
With  the  first,  called  Beccari  [President  of  the  Institute 
of  Science  and  Art  at  Bologna],  she  discoursed  in  Latin 
upon  light  (for  which  I  was  not  much  the  better) ;  but 
afterwards  Doctor  Zanotti  [probably  Eustachio  Zanotti, 
Professor  of  Astronomy  at  the  University  of  Bologna], 
with  an  infinite  deal  of  wit,  started  a  question  in  Italian, 

1  Born   in    1711,  took  her  doctor's  degree  in   1732,  married  to  Dr. 
Verati  in  1748,  died  in  1778. 

32 


LADY  POMFRET 

"  Whether  we  were  not  in  some  danger  of  losing  the 
benefit  of  the  moon,  since  the  English  had  affirmed 
that  the  sun  attracted  all  planets  to  itself  ? "  He 
desired  her  not  to  compliment  the  English,  but  to 
free  him  from  the  fears  which  their  assertions  justly 
caused  him.  I  wish  I  was  capable  of  translating  the 
dialogue,  for  I  flatter  myself  our  tastes  are  so  much 
alike  that  you  would  no  more  tire  of  reading  than 
I  of  hearing  it.' 

The  correspondents  were  both,  as  has  been  seen, 
keenly  interested  in  the  question  of  feminine  learning, 
and  there  was  no  clever  woman  who  exercised  their 
curiosity  more  than  that  intellectual  meteor,  Lady  Mary 
Wortley  Montagu.  Lady  Pom  fret  had  cooled  towards 
her  to  some  extent  since  the  visit  to  Florence,  but  Lady 
Hertford  is  again  dilating  upon  her  merits  about  this 
time,  in  consequence  of  a  perusal  of  A  Week  of  Town 
Eclogues.  '  There  is,1  she  declares,  *  more  fire  and  wit 
in  all  the  writings  of  that  author  than  one  meets  with  in 
almost  any  other ;  and  whether  she  is  in  the  humour  of 
an  infidel  or  a  devotee,  she  expresses  herself  with  so  much 
strength  that  one  can  hardly  persuade  oneself  she  is  not 
in  earnest  on  either  side  of  the  question.  Nothing  can 
be  more  natural  than  her  complaint  of  the  loss  of  her 
beauty  [vide  the  *  Saturday '  in  her  Town  Eclogues'}  ;  but 
as  that  was  only  one  of  her  various  powers  to  charm,  I 
should  have  imagined  she  would  only  have  felt  a  very 
small  part  of  the  regret  that  many  other  people  have 
suffered  on  a  like  misfortune ;  who  have  nothing  but  the 
loveliness  of  their  persons  to  claim  admiration  ;  and  con- 
sequently, by  the  loss  of  that,  have  found  all  their  hopes 
of  distinction  vanish  much  earlier  in  life  than  Lady 
Mary's ; — for  if  I  do  not  mistake,  she  was  near  thirty 
c  33 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

before  she  had  to  deplore  the  loss  of  beauty  greater  than 
I  ever  saw  in  any  face  beside  her  own.1 

Play  and  inoculation  seem  to  have  been  the  principal 
excitements  of  the  London  season  of  1741.  '  Assemblies 
are  now  so  much  in  fashion,1  we  read, '  that  most  persons 
fancy  themselves  under  a  necessity  of  inviting  all  their 
acquaintances  three  or  four  times  to  their  houses,  not  in 
small  parties,  which  would  be  supportable,  but  they  are 
all  to  come  at  once ;  nor  is  it  enough  to  engage  married 
people,  but  the  boys  and  girls  sit  down  as  gravely  to 
whist-tables  as  fellows  of  colleges  used  to  do  formerly. 
It  is  actually  a  ridiculous,  though,  I  think,  a  mortifying 
sight,  that  play  should  become  the  business  of  the  nation, 
from  the  age  of  fifteen  to  fourscore.  .  .  .  (April  13th.) 
Inoculation  is  more  in  fashion  than  ever ;  half  my 
acquaintances  are  shut  up  to  nurse  their  children,  grand- 
children, nephews,  or  nieces.  I  should  be  content  to 
stay  in  town  upon  the  same  account  if  I  were  happy 
enough  to  see  my  son  desire  it,  but  that  is  not  the 
case,  and  at  his  age  it  must  either  be  a  voluntary  act 
or  left  undone.1  Lady  Hertford's  anxiety  on  her  only 
son's  account  was  not  unfounded,  for  only  three  years 
later  he  died  of  smallpox  at  Bologna  on  his  nineteenth 
birthday. 

Lady  Pomfret  meanwhile  journeyed  from  Bologna  to 
Venice,  where  she  stayed  long  enough  to  exhaust  all  the 
principal  sights.  Among  the  '  lions  "*  interviewed  was 
the  pastel  painter,  Rosalba,1  who,  says  her  ladyship,  *  is 
now  old,  but  certainly  the  best,  if  not  the  only  artist  in 
her  way.  This,  her  excellence,  does  not  make  her  the 
least  impertinent,  her  behaviour  being  as  good  as  her 

1  Rosa  Alba  Camera,  born   in    1671  at  Venice,  where  she  died  in 
1757- 

34 


LADY  POMFRET 

work.'  Several  convents  were  visited,  and  a  curious 
account  is  given  of  the  non-ascetic  manner  in  which  the 
majority  of  them  were  conducted  at  that  period.  At 
one  of  these  establishments,  for  example,  each  nun  was 
allowed  an  apartment  and  a  garden  to  herself,  while 
there  was  frequent  dancing,  and  even  performances  of 
operas,  though  no  profane  auditors  were  admitted.  The 
vows  of  celibacy  and  seclusion  were  not  invariably 
regarded  as  perpetual,  and  in  certain  cases  the  nuns 
were  allowed  to  go  out  and  take  part  in  the  carnivals. 

Lady  Pomfret's  enjoyment  of  her  stay  in  Venice  was 
spoilt  by  the  news  of  the  death  of  Lord  Aubrey  Beau- 
clerk  at  the  battle  of  Carthagena,  her  second  son  being 
on  Lord  Aubrey's  staff.  *  This  misfortune,1  she  writes, 
'  leaves  my  son  without  a  protector,  in  an  unwholesome 
climate,  exposed  to  a  thousand  dangers  besides  the 
common  ones  of  his  profession,  and  perhaps  to  neces- 
sities, it  being  impossible  to  remit  money  to  him  in  his 
present  situation  ;  but  God  knows  whether  he  is  alive 
to  want  it,  for  I  hear  the  ship  he  was  in  has  suffered 
much,  and  lost  many  men.  I  own  I  am  not  patriotic 
enough  to  rejoice  at  a  victory  that  may  have  cost  me 
so  dear ;  though  could  I  hear  that  my  child  was  safe, 
nobody  would  be  better  pleased  with  it  than  myself.' 

Lady  Hertford,  on  May  the  27th,  encloses  a  letter 
from  the  hero  of  Carthagena,  Admiral  Vernon,  thinking 
that  her  friend  might  like  to  see  the  style  of  a  man 
whose  actions  formed  so  great  a  part  of  the  conversation 
of  all  Europe.  '  I  own,'  she  remarks,  '  that  I  am  pleased 
to  find  him  begin  by  attributing  his  success,  not  to  his 
own  bravery  or  conduct,  but  to  the  Giver  of  all  victory, 
and  praising  Him  that  the  English  colours  are  now 
flying  on  Castillio  Grande.  However  a  sense  of  religion 

35 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

may  be  out  of  fashion  amongst  some  polite  people,  it 
certainly  adds  a  great  lustre  to  the  characters  of  any 
persons  who  are  so  happy  as  to  act  under  its  influence. 
The  lower  part  of  the  people  have  been  transported 
beyond  measure  by  what  they  call  an  auspicious  omen 
— two  young  lions  have  been  whelped  in  the  Tower  on 
the  day  that  the  news  of  the  taking  of  Carthagena 
arrived,  and  they  have  been  called  Vernon  and  Ogle. 
Yet  to  prove  that  the  English  mob  can  never  be  so 
thoroughly  pleased  as  not  to  have  a  delight  in  doing 
mischief,  they  assembled  in  vast  bodies,  and  demolished 
every  window  in  London  where  there  were  not  lights 
for  four  nights  successively.  This  vengeance  fell  chiefly 
on  empty  houses,  or  on  those  whose  owners  were  out  of 
town  ;  for  everybody  else  illuminated  their  rails  and 
houses  in  the  greatest  profusion.  I  do  not  know  by 
what  accident  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  and  Doctor  Pearce 
happened  to  be  out  of  the  way,  or  not  to  think  of  this 
testimony  of  their  joy  in  time ;  but  neither  of  them  has 
a  pane  of  glass  or  a  window-frame  left  in  their  houses. 
The  High  Constable  of  Westminster  not  only  made  a 
very  great  bonfire,  but  gave  a  hogshead  of  strong  beer 
at  his  door.  This  the  mob  had  no  sooner  consumed 
than  they  broke  all  the  windows,  and  fell  to  demolishing 
his  house  in  such  a  manner  that  if  a  guard  had  not 
immediately  been  sent  for,  it  would  have  been  pulled 
down  in  about  two  hours.  They  had  several  men  in 
the  middle  of  them  with  great  flashets  of  paving-stones 
ready  for  the  slingers  to  demolish  what  was  out  of  their 
reach  by  throwing  with  their  hands.  In  short,  the 
disorders  were  so  great  that  the  regents  have  thought  it 
necessary  to  issue  a  proclamation  for  the  discovery  of 
the  ringleaders."1  It  is  gratifying  to  reflect  how  much 
36 


LADY  POMFRET 

the  London  populace  has  improved  in  character  between 
the  (so-called)  victory  of  Carthagena  and  the  relief  of 
Mafeking. 

A  glimpse  of  the  fashions  of  the  period  is  given  in  a 
letter  of  Lady  Hertford's,  dated  June  3,  1741,  which  is 
in  answer  to  an  inquiry  from  Lady  Pomfret  on  that 
subject.  '  I  must  begin  by  asking  your  pardon  for 
having  forgot  to  answer  you  in  my  last  about  the  dress 
of  the  fashionable  young  ladies.  This,  on  the  whole,  is 
neither  quite  French  nor  quite  English,  their  hair  being 
cut  and  curled  after  the  mode  of  the  former,  and  their 
bodies  dressed  in  the  way  of  the  latter,  though  with 
French  hoops.  Few  unmarried  women  appear  abroad 
in  robes  or  sacques,  and  as  few  married  ones  would  be 
thought  genteel  in  anything  else.  I  am  myself  so 
awkward  as  to  be  yet  unable  to  use  myself  to  that  dress, 
unless  for  visits  of  ceremony ;  since  I  do  not  feel  at 
home  in  my  own  house  without  an  apron ;  nor  can 
endure  a  hoop  that  would  overturn  all  the  chairs  and 
stools  in  my  closet.'  To  show  the  minute  accuracy  of 
Horace  Walpole  as  a  chronicler  of  contemporary  trifles, 
the  above  passage  may  be  compared  with  a  paragraph 
in  a  letter  of  his  to  Sir  Horace  Mann,  dated  October  13, 
1741  (just  after  the  Pomfrets'  return  to  England),  in 
which  he  observes  that  Lady  Sophia  Fermor's  head  is 
to  be  dressed  French  and  her  body  English,  for  which 
he  is  sorry,  since  her  figure  is  so  fine  in  a  robe.  It  will 
be  noted  that  the  fashions  had  not  changed  between 
June  and  October. 

The  Pomfrets  travelled  from  Venice  over  the  Tyrol, 
and  through  Germany  to  Brussels,  where  they  made  a 
long  stay.  In  one  of  the  letters  written  from  Brussels, 
Lady  Pomfret  describes  a  visit  to  Antwerp,  where  she 

37 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

made  the  acquaintance  of  a  very  remarkable  character, 
a  Mrs.  Blount,  sister-in-law  of  Pope's  friend  and  corre- 
spondent. '  Mrs.  Blount,1  she  relates,  *  lives  a  little  way 
out  of  the  city,  in  a  small  but  convenient  house,  moated 
round.  To  this  she  has  a  drawbridge  that  pulls  up 
every  night.  This  lady  was  the  daughter  of  Sir  John 
Guise,  and  was  endowed  with  a  most  surprising  genius, 
which  he  took  care  to  improve  by  having  her  taught 
the  Latin,  Spanish,  Italian,  and  French  languages,  all 
of  which  she  is  perfect  mistress  of,  as  well  as  all  the 
best  books  in  them  (!).  Music  and  poetry  assisted  in 
the  completing  of  her  mind ;  and  love  led  her  choice  to 
a  younger  brother  of  Sir  Walter  Blount,  whom  you  may 
remember  as  often  mentioned  in  Mr.  Pope's  letters. 
Since  the  death  of  this  gentleman,  and  the  disposal  of 
her  daughters,  she  is  retired  (with  three  or  four  ser- 
vants) to  prepare  for  the  next  world,  and  she  calls  her- 
self the  Solitaire.  Her  dress  is  plain,  and  she  never 
goes  into  company ;  but  if  any  persons  come  to  her,  she 
receives  them  with  the  greatest  apparent  pleasure,  and 
with  such  vivacity  and  variety  of  wit  that  you  would 
imagine  she  was  still  in  the  midst  of  the  beau  monde. 
.  .  .  The  oddness  of  this  lady's  turn  and  way  of  life  gave 
many  different  sentiments  to  our  company.  Some  of  us 
pitied  her,  and  some  of  us  pitied  the  world  for  losing 
her  ;  but  all  wondered  at  her  except  myself,  who  really 
wonder  that  no  persons  ever  thought  of  secluding  them- 
selves in  this  manner  before.  To  be  weary  of  the  hurry 
of  the  world  at  a  certain  age,  for  people  of  any  degree 
of  sense,  is  the  most  natural  thing  imaginable ;  and  no 
longer  to  seek  company  when  the  dearest  and  best  of 
company  has  left  us,  is  equally  conformable  to  a  tender 
heart  and  strong  understanding.  But  to  shut  oneself 
38 


LADY  POMFRET 

up  irrevocably  in  a  prison,1  to  torment  the  body  and  try 
the  constitution,  because  our  minds  are  already  too 
much  distressed,  is  what  I  cannot  so  well  comprehend ; 
therefore,  I  confess  myself  an  admirer  of  Mrs.  Blount's 
disposal  of  her  remaining  days.  Nobody  can  say  or 
imagine  that  she  repents  of  a  retirement  which  her 
children  and  friends  solicit  her  every  day  to  leave,  and 
which  she  has  no  sort  of  obligation  but  what  arises  from 
choice  to  stay  in.  Nobody  that  visits  her  finds  by  her 
reception  of  them  that  her  own  thoughts  are  insupport- 
able to  her  ;  but  she  rather  seems  to  have  been  storing 
up  entertainment  for  her  guests,  which  she  presents 
with  as  much  readiness,  and  in  as  great  plenty,  as  if 
she  expected  to  receive  cent,  per  cent,  for  it ;  whereas 
few  are  able  to  return  her  half  the  real  value.' 

Lady  Hertford  is  charmed  with  this  account  of  Mrs. 
Blount's  mode  of  living,  and  quotes  the  somewhat  similar 
case  of  the  Dowager  Duchess  of  St.  Albans,  who,  in  her 
declining  years,  never  went  outside  her  house  at  Windsor, 
though  she  was  always  ready  to  receive  visitors  at  home. 
'  It  has  long  been  my  fixed  opinion,'  continues  her  lady- 
ship, '  that  in  the  latter  part  of  life,  when  the  duty  to  a 
family  no  longer  calls  upon  us  to  act  on  the  public  stage, 
it  is  not  only  more  decent,  but  infinitely  more  eligible, 
to  live  in  an  absolute  retirement.1  This  letter  is  dated 
from  the  house  at  Marlborough,  whither  the  Hertfords 
had  retired  for  the  summer  months.  *  We  had  the 
finest  weather  imaginable  for  our  journey,1*  writes  Lady 
Hertford ;  *  and  though  the  distance  was  fifty-nine  miles, 
we  performed  the  journey  in  eleven  hours  and  three- 
quarters,  including  the  time  we  baited.  I  never  saw 
such  an  air  of  plenty  as  appeared  on  both  sides  of  the 
1  Lady  Pomfret  means  a  convent. 

39 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

road,  from  the  vast  quantities  of  corn  with  which  the 
fields  are  covered,  and  the  addition  of  many  hop-gardens. 
...  I  find  my  own  garden  full  of  sweets,  and  I  have  a 
terrace  between  a  border  of  pinks  and  a  sweetbriar 
hedge.  Whether  it  is  because  this  was  the  first  habita- 
tion I  was  mistress  of,  in  those  cheerful  years  when 
everything  assumed  a  smiling  aspect  from  the  vivacity 
that  attends  that  season  of  life ;  or  because  almost 
every  little  ornament  has  been  made  either  by  my  lord's 
or  my  own  contrivance,  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  certainly 
feel  a  partiality  for  this  place  which  an  indifferent 
person  would  be  at  a  loss  to  account  for.1 

An  agreeable  company  was  staying  in  the  house, 
among  others  Lady  Hertford's  nephew,  the  diminutive 
Lord  Brooke,  afterwards  created  Earl  of  Warwick. 
The  conversation  would  seem  to  have  been  superior  in 
quality  to  that  talked  in  the  average  country  house. 
*  An  argument  was  started  one  night  after  supper,' 
reports  the  hostess,  *  which  produced  a  dialogue  of 
above  an  hour  that  I  secretly  wished  you  had  heard, 
because  I  thought  it  might  give  you  some  entertain- 
ment, being  managed  on  both  sides  with  a  great  deal  of 
wit  and  politeness.  The  subject  was,  "Whether  a 
sincere  love  could  subsist  where  there  was  not  an 
attention  paid  to  the  object  ?  "  Two  of  the  company, 
having  a  particular  friendship  for  a  gentleman  who  has 
lately  married  a  very  agreeable  woman  with  a  very  great 
fortune,  who  loves  him  to  distraction,  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  vindicate  their  friend,  who  they  say  loves  her 
extremely  though  he  has  not  this  attention,  to  prove 
that  the  truest  love  was  often  without  it.  This 
appeared  so  paradoxical  to  Mr.  Leslie  and  a  very 
ingenious  young  clergyman  who  was  present,  that  it 
40 


LADY  POMFRET 

produced  a  dispute  which,  could  I  have  written  short- 
hand, I  should  have  thought  well  worth  taking  down. 
Yet  after  all  that  was  said,  with  a  great  deal  of  life  and 
spirit  on  both  sides,  I  believe  both  still  retained  their 
first  opinions,  as  I  confess  I  did  mine  ;  so  that  love 
without  attention  still  appears  a  chimera  to  me.1 

The  Pomfrets  were  detained  at  Brussels  longer  than 
they  wished  on  account  of  the  disturbed  state  of  the 
Continent,  and  the  fact  that  Spanish  privateers  were 
patrolling  the  seas  and  rendering  the  passage  of  non- 
combatants  insecure.  The  last  letter  from  Brussels  is 
dated  October  6,  1741,  and  the  next  day  the  Pomfrets 
left  for  England.  The  correspondence  came  to  an  end 
with  the  meeting  of  the  friends,  but  the  career  of  Lady 
Pomfret  and  her  beautiful  daughters  may  be  traced 
through  the  gossiping  letters  of  Horace  Walpole,  while 
there  is  an  occasional  allusion  to  the  Hertfords.  Lady 
Sophia  Fermor  returned  to  England  to  take  up  a  posi- 
tion as  one  of  the  chief  beauties  of  her  time,  and  Walpole 
watches  with  his  usual  malicious  interest  the  flirtations 
of  the  young  lady  and  the  ambitions  of  her  mother.1 
At  a  ball  given  by  Sir  Thomas  Robinson  in  November, 
there  were  many  belles,  but  Lady  Sophia  outshone  them 
all,  though  a  little  out  of  humour  at  the  scarcity  of 
minuets.  *  However,  as  usual,  she  danced  more  than 
anybody,  and  as  usual,  too,  took  out  what  men  she 
liked,  or  thought  the  best  dancers.  Lord  Lincoln  2  and 
Lord  Holdernesse  were  admirers-in-chief,  and  it  was 
generally  believed  that  a  match  would  be  arranged  with 
the  former,  but  he  took  fright  at  the  net  that  seemed 

/     l  There  is  a  tradition  in  the  Fermor  family  that  Horace  was  in  love  with 
,'\the  second  daughter,  afterwards  Lady  Charlotte  Finch. 
2  Son  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle. 

41 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

to  be  laid  for  him,  and  ended  by  marrying  his  cousin, 
Miss  Pelham.' 

Lady  Pomfret  is  described  by  Walpole  as  a  sort  of 
aristocratic  Mrs.  Malaprop ;  and  many  of  her  sayings 
are  recorded  by  him  in  his  letters  to  Sir  Horace  Mann, 
who  had  been  well  acquainted  with  her  ladyship  at 
Florence.  Writing  on  November  23,  1741,  Walpole 
observes :  '  Lady  Townshend  told  me  an  admirable 
history ;  it  is  of  our  friend  Lady  Pomfret.  Somebody  that 
belonged  to  the  Prince  of  Wales  said  they  were  going 
to  Court ;  it  was  objected  that  they  ought  to  say,  going 
to  Carlton  House  ;  that  the  only  Court  is  where  the 
King  resides.  Lady  Pomfret,  with  her  paltry  air  of 
significant  learning  and  absurdity,  said,  "  Oh,  Lord  !  is 
there  no  Court  in  England  but  the  King's  ?  Sure  there 
are  many  more !  There  is  the  Court  of  Chancery,  the 
Court  of  Exchequer,  the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  etc." 
Don't  you  love  her  ?  Lord  Lincoln  does  her  daughter. 
He  is  come  over  and  met  her  the  other  night ;  he 
turned  pale,  spoke  to  her  several  times  in  the  evening, 
but  not  long,  and  sighed  to  me  at  going  away.1 
Describing  a  masquerade  given  in  February  1742,  he 
writes  :  '  Of  all  extravagant  figures,  commend  me  to  our 
Countess  [of  Pomfret].  She  and  my  Lord  trudged  in  like 
pilgrims,  with  vast  staffs  in  their  hands ;  and  she  was  so 
heated  that  you  would  have  thought  her  pilgrimage  had 
been  like  Pantagruel's  voyage  to  the  Oracle  of  the 
Bottle !  Lady  Sophia  was  in  a  Spanish  dress,  so  was 
Lord  Lincoln ;  not  to  be  sure  by  design,  but  so  it 
happened.' 

The  Lincoln  affair  dragged  on  for  some  time  longer. 
Lady  Mary  Wortley,  writing  to  Lady  Pomfret  in  June, 
remarks  :  *  Apropos  of  angels,  I  am  astonished  Lady 
42 


LADY  POMFRET 

Sophia  does  not  condescend  to  leave  some  copies  of  her 
face  for  the  benefit  of  posterity ;  'tis  quite  impossible 
she  should  not  command  what  matches  she  pleases  when 
such  pugs  as  Miss  Hamilton  l  become  peeresses,  and  I 
am  still  of  opinion  that  it  depended  on  her  to  be  my 
relation.1  Lady  Mary  had,  of  course,  numerous  relations, 
eligible  and  otherwise,  but  she  was  probably  alluding  to 
her  kinsman,  Lord  Lincoln.  Lady  Pomfret  in  the  intervals 
of  match-making  continued  to  amuse  her  friends  with 
her  preciosity.  'You  have  no  notion,'  writes  Walpole 
in  allusion  to  a  story  of  Mann's,  'how  I  laughed  at  the 
man  that  "  talks  nothing  but  Madeira."  I  told  it  to 
my  Lady  Pomfret,  concluding  that  it  would  divert  her 
too,  and  forgetting  that  she  repines  when  she  should 
laugh,  and  reasons  when  she  should  be  diverted.  She 
asked  gravely  what  language  that  was  !  "  That  Madeira 
being  subject  to  an  European  Prince,  to  be  sure  they 
talk  some  European  dialect ! "  The  grave  personage  ! 
It  was  of  a  piece  with  her  saying  "  that  Swift  would 
have  written  better  if  he  had  never  written  ludicrously." ' 
In  November  we  read :  '  The  Pomfrets  stay  in  the 
country  most  of  the  winter ;  Lord  Lincoln  and  Mr. 
George  Pitt  [an  admirer  of  Lady  Charlotte  Fermor] 
have  declared  off  in  form.  So  much  for  the  schemes  of 
my  lady.  The  Duke  of  Grafton  used  to  say  that  they 
put  him  in  mind  of  a  troop  of  Italian  comedians ;  Lord 
Lincoln  was  Valere,  Lady  Sophia  Columbine,  and  my 
lady  the  old  mother  behind  the  scenes.' 

There  is  no  more  mention  of  the  Pomfrets  for  about 
eighteen  months,  and  then  in  March  1744  comes  the 
announcement :  '  Who  do  you  think  is  going  to  marry 

1  Daughter  of  Lord  Archibald  Hamilton.     Married  to  Lord  Brooke  in 
May  1742. 

43 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

Lady  Sophia  Fermor  ? — Only  my  Lord  Carteret ! — this 
very  week  ! — a  drawing-room  conquest.  Do  but  imagine 
how  many  passions  will  be  gratified  in  that  family  !  Her 
own  ambition,  vanity,  and  resentment — love  she  never 
had  any ;  the  politics,  management,  and  pedantry  of 
the  mother,  who  will  think  to  govern  her  son-in-law 
out  of  Froissart.1  Figure  the  instructions  she  will  give 
her  daughter  !  Lincoln  is  quite  indifferent,  and  laughs. 
My  Lord  Chesterfield  says,  "  It  is  only  another  of 
Carteret's  vigorous  measures."  I  am  really  glad  of  it ; 
for  her  beauty  and  cleverness  deserve  a  better  fate  than 
she  was  on  the  point  of  having  determined  for  her  for 
ever.  How  graceful,  how  charming,  and  how  haughtily 
condescending  she  will  be !  How,  if  Lincoln  should 
ever  hint  past  history,  she  will 

"  Stare  upon  the  strange  man's  face, 
As  one  she  ne'er  had  known." ' 

Lord  Carteret,  afterwards  Earl  Granville,  was  at  that 
time  Secretary  of  State,  the  period  of  his  ascendency 
being  known  as  the  Drunken  Administration.  He  was 
then  fifty -four  years  of  age,  with  several  grown-up 
daughters,  and  had  lost  his  first  wife  only  nine  months 
before.  The  engagement  caused  a  great  sensation  in 
society,  partly  on  account  of  the  bridegroom's  high 
position,  and  partly  on  account  of  the  difference  in  age 
between  the  pair.  An  epigram  upon  Lady  Sophia  at 
this  time  is  quoted  by  Walpole  : — 

'  Her  beauty,  like  the  Scripture  feast, 

To  which  the  invited  never  came, 
Deprived  of  its  intended  guest, 
Was  given  to  the  old  and  lame.' 

1  Lady  Pomfret  had  translated  Froissart. 

44 


LADY  POMFRET 

The  wedding  had  to  be  deferred  because,  to  quote  a 
letter  of  Mrs.  Delany's,  who  was  a  cousin  of  the  bride- 
groom, '  Lord  Carteret  has  hurried  Lady  Sophia's  spirits 
into  a  scarlet  fever,  and  she  was  in  great  danger  for 
twenty-four  hours;  and  she  has  thrown  him  into  the 
gout,  with  which  he  has  been  confined  this  week.1*  The 
jointure  was  fixed  at  sixteen  hundred  pounds  a  year,  and 
the  pin-money  at  four  hundred,  while  there  were  to  be 
two  thousand  pounds1  worth  of  jewels.  The  couple 
corresponded  every  day,  Lord  Carteret  reading  his  lady's 
letters  to  the  Cabinet  Council. 

The  marriage  seems  to  have  been  a  happy  one  for  the 
short  time  it  lasted.  Lord  Carteret  made  up  for  what 
he  lacked  in  youth  by  his  brilliant  parts,  his  high 
spirits,  his  overflowing  vitality,  and  his  devotion  to  his 
young  bride ;  while  she,  clever,  cold-hearted,  and  ambi- 
tious, was  more  than  satisfied.  We  hear  of  the  pair  at 
Ranelagh,  where  they  are  all  fondness — walk  together, 
and  stop  every  five  minutes  to  kiss.  We  meet  the 
bride  and  her  mother  at  Knapton's,  the  fashionable 
crayon  artist.  Lady  Carteret  is  drawn  crowned  with 
corn,  like  the  goddess  of  plenty,  and  a  mild  dove  in  her 
arms  like  Venus.  '  We  had  much  of  my  Lord  and  my 
Lord?  says  Walpole.  'The  Countess-mother  (Lady 
Pomfret)  was  glad  my  Lord  was  not  there — he  was  never 
satisfied  with  the  eyes ;  she  was  afraid  he  would  have 
had  them  drawn  bigger  than  the  cheeks.1  On  Novem- 
ber 9,  we  read  that  '  the  new  Lady  Granville  [Lord 
Carteret  had  just  succeeded  to  the  Earldom]  was  at  home 
the  other  night  for  the  first  time.  I  was  invited,  for  I 
am  much  in  favour  with  them  all,  but  found  myself 
extremely  deplace :  there  was  nothing  but  the  Winchil- 
seas  and  Baths,  and  the  gleanings  of  a  party  stuffed  out 

45 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

into  a  faction,  and  the  whole  blood  of  Fermor.'  Lady 
Pomfret  in  the  course  of  conversation  remarked  that 
Horace's  conduct  in  respect  to  a  certain  action  had  been 
*  very  ministerial]  an  awkward  word,  it  was  felt,  to  apply 
just  then  to  the  son  of  a  newly-fallen  minister,  but 
pronounced  by  the  Queen-mother,  says  Walpole,  '  with 
all  the  importance  with  which  she  was  used  to  blunder 
out  pieces  of  heathen  mythology.' 

Three  weeks  later  Lord  Granville  himself  had  fallen, 
driven  from  office  by  the  jealousy  of  the  Pelhams.  From 
that  time,  according  to  Macaulay,  his  lordship  re- 
linquished all  ambitious  hopes,  and  retired  laughing  to 
his  books  and  his  bottle.  '  No  statesman  ever  enjoyed 
a  success  with  so  exquisite  a  relish,  or  submitted  to 
defeat  with  so  genuine  and  unforced  a  cheerfulness.' 
His  wife  and  her  mother  were  not  so  happy ;  indeed, 
they  are  said  to  have  felt  bitter  mortification  at  the 
failure  of  all  their  ambitions.  *  However,'  writes  Wal- 
pole, '  the  daughter  carries  it  off  heroically ;  the  very 
night  of  her  fall  she  went  to  the  Oratorio.  I  talked  to 
her  much,  and  recollected  all  that  had  been  said  to  me 
upon  the  like  occasion  three  years  ago ;  I  succeeded, 
and  am  invited  to  her  assembly  next  Tuesday.'  The 
poor  beauty's  short  but  brilliant  career  was  nearly  over. 
There  are  a  few  allusions  to  the  expectation  of  a  young 
Carteret,  and  the  delighted  importance  of  the  Countess- 
mother  ;  then  the  news  of  the  birth  of  a  daughter  in 
September ;  and  finally,  in  a  letter  dated  October  1 1 , 
1745,  we  read  the  melancholy  conclusion  of  the  story  ; — 

'  Before  I  talk  of  any  public  news,  I  must  tell  you  what 

you  will  be  very  sorry  for — Lady  Granville  is  dead.     She 

had  a  fever  for  six  weeks  before  her  lying  in,  and  could 

never  get  it  off.      Last  Saturday  they  called  in  another 

46 


LADY  POMFRET 

physician,  Doctor  Oliver,  and  on  Monday  he  pronounced 
her  out  of  danger.  About  seven  in  the  evening,  as 
Lady  Pomfret  and  Lady  Charlotte  (Fermor)  were  sitting 
by  her,  the  first  notice  they  had  of  her  immediate 
danger  was  her  sighing  and  saying,  "  I  feel  death  come 
very  fast  upon  me ! "  She  repeated  the  same  words 
frequently,  remained  perfectly  in  her  senses  and  calm, 
and  died  about  eleven  at  night.  Her  mother  and 
sister  sat  by  her  till  she  was  cold.  It  is  very  shocking 
for  anybody  so  young,  so  handsome,  so  arrived  at  the 
height  of  happiness,  so  sensible  of  it,  and  on  whom  all 
the  joy  and  grandeur  of  her  family  depended,  to  be  so 
quickly  snatched  away.  Poor  Uguccioni ! l  he  will  be 
very  sorry  and  simple  about  it.1 

Lady  Pomfrefs  grief  at  the  death  of  Lady  Granville 
was  probably  somewhat  softened  by  the  marriage,  in 
1746,  of  her  second  daughter,  Lady  Charlotte,  to 
William  Finch,  brother  and  heir  of  Lord  Winchelsea. 
Lady  Charlotte  afterwards  held  the  post  of  governess  to 
the  children  of  George  in.,  and  is  said  to  have  acquitted 
herself  admirably  in  her  difficult  and  responsible  task. 
The  fourth  daughter,  Lady  Juliana,  married  Thomas 
Penn,  son  of  the  famous  William  Penn,  and  one  of  the 
proprietors  of  Pennsylvania.  In  1753  Lord  Pomfret 
died,  and  was  succeeded  by  his  ne^er-do-weel  son,  Lord 
Lempster.  *  The  Countess,1  says  Walpole,  '  has  two 
thousand  pounds  a  year  rent-charge  for  jointure,  five 
hundred  as  lady  of  the  bedchamber  to  the  late  Queen, 
and  fourteen  thousand  pounds  in  money,  in  her  own 
power — what  a  fund  for  follies  !  The  new  Earl  has 
about  two  thousand  four  hundred  a  year,  but  deep 
debts  and  post-obits.  .  .  .  There  are  rents  worth  ten 
1  A  Florentine  admirer,  who  afterwards  wrote  an  Elegy  on  her. 

47 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

thousand  pounds  left  to  little  Lady  Sophia  Carteret, 
and  the  whole  personal  estate  between  the  two  un- 
married daughters,  so  the  seat  (Easton  Neston)  must  be 
stripped.  .  .  .  The  statues,  which  were  part  of  the 
Arundel  collection,  are  famous,  but  few  good.' 

These  statues  had  been  bought  from  Lord  Arundel 
by  Sir  William  Fermor,  father  of  Lord  Pomfret.  At 
the  Easton  Neston  sale  they  were  purchased  by  Lady 
Pomfret,  who  was  not  on  terms  with  her  son.  Wai- 
pole,  in  a  letter  to  Mann,  dated  March  10,  1755,  says  : 
'  If  you  are  there  [at  Rome]  when  you  receive  this,  pray 
make  my  Lady  Pomfret's  compliments  to  the  statues  in 
the  Capitol,  and  inform  them  that  she  has  purchased 
her  late  lord's  collection  of  statues,  and  presented  them 
to  the  University  of  Oxford.  The  present  Earl,  her  son, 
is  grown  a  speaker  in  the  House  of  Lords,  and  makes 
comparisons  between  Julius  Caesar  and  the  watchmen  of 
Bristol,  in  the  same  style  as  he  compared  himself  [or 
rather  his  debts]  to  Cerberus,  who,  when  he  had  his  head 
cut  off,  three  others  sprang  up  in  its  room? 

A  year  later,  in  July  1756,  we  learn  from  the  same 
authority  that  '  our  old  friend  the  Countess  has  ex- 
hibited herself  lately  to  the  public  exactly  in  a  style  you 
would  guess.  Having  given  her  lord's  statues  to  the 
University  of  Oxford,  she  has  been  there  at  the  public 
act  to  receive  adoration.  A  box  was  built  for  her  near 
the  Vice-Chancellor,  where  she  sat  for  three  days  to- 
gether for  four  hours  at  a  time,  to  hear  verses  and 
speeches,  and  to  hear  herself  called  Minerva ;  nay,  the 
public  orator  had  prepared  an  encomium  on  her  beauty, 
but  being  struck  with  her  appearance,  had  presence  of 
mind  to  whisk  his  compliments  to  the  beauties  of  her 
mind.  Do  but  figure  her ;  her  dress  had  all  the  tawdry 
48 


LADY  POMFRET 

poverty  and  frippery  with  which  you  remember  her.  .  .  . 
It  is  amazing  that  she  did  not  mash  a  few  words  of 
Latin,  as  she  used  to  fricassee  French  and  Italian  !  or 
that  she  did  not  torture  some  learned  simile,  like  her 
comparing  the  tour  of  Sicily,  the  surrounding  a  triangle, 
to  squaring  the  circle ;  or  as  when  she  said  it  was  as 
difficult  to  get  into  an  Italian  coach  as  for  Caesar  to 
take  Attica,  which  she  meant  for  Utica.' 

In  December  1761  Lady  Pom  fret  died  suddenly 
while  on  a  journey  to  Bath.  She  was  buried  at 
Easton  Neston ;  but  a  '  neat  cenotaph '  in  the  University 
Church  of  Oxford  commemorates  her  virtues  and  accom- 
plishments in  sonorous  Latin  phrases,  which  would  have 
given  her  intense  satisfaction  and  delight  could  she  have 
been  alive  to  read — and  misconstrue — them. 

To  return  to  Lady  Hertford.  There  is  extant  a  little 
volume  of  manuscript  letters  addressed  by  her  to  Lady 
Luxborough,1  Shenstone^s  patroness,  between  1742  and 
1754,  from  which  we  may  gain  a  glimpse  into  her  life 
after  the  discontinuance  of  her  correspondence  with 
Lady  Pomfret. 

In  September  1742  Lady  Hertford  writes:  *  I  have 
not  seen  Thomson  almost  these  three  years.  He  keeps 
company  with  scarce  any  one  but  Hallett  and  one  or 
two  players,  and  indeed  hardly  anybody  else  will  keep 

1  Lady  Luxborough  was  half-sister  of  Lord  Bolingbroke.  Some  letters 
of  hers  were  published  in  a  collection  of  Shenstone's  correspondence. 
Horace  Walpole  says  that  she  was  '  a  high-coloured  lusty  black  woman, 
who  was  parted  from  her  husband  upon  a  gallantry  she  had  with  Parson 
Dalton  (chaplain  to  the  Duchess  of  Somerset),  the  reviver  of  "  Comus."  ' 
Lady  Luxborough,  he  continues,  'retired  into  the  country,  corresponded 
as  you  see  by  her  letters  with  the  small  poets  of  that  time  ;  but  having  no 
Theseus  among  them,  consoled  herself,  it  is  said,  like  Ariadne,  with 
Bacchus.' 

D  49 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

company  with  him.  He  turns  day  into  night,  and 
night  into  day,  and  is  (I  am  told)  never  awake  till  after 
midnight,  and  I  doubt  has  quite  drowned  his  genius.1 
Evidently  Thomson's  former  patroness  had  never  quite 
forgiven  him  for  neglecting  to  correct  her  poems  in  order 
to  carouse  with  her  lord. 

The  death  of  the  Hertfords'  only  son,  Lord  Beau- 
champ,  in  1744,  was  a  terrible  blow  to  his  mother,  and 
henceforward  her  letters  are  full  of  allusion  to  her  loss. 
Walpole,  in  chronicling  the  event,  observes  that  if  the 
parents  were  out  of  the  question,  no  one  would  be  sorry 
for  such  a  mortification  to  the  pride  of  old  Somerset, 
Lord  Hertford's  father.  '  He  has  written  the  most 
shocking  letter  imaginable  to  Lord  Hertford,  telling 
him  that  it  is  a  judgment  on  him  for  his  undutifulness, 
and  that  he  must  always  look  upon  himself  as  the  cause 
of  his  son's  death.  Lord  Hertford  is  as  good  a  man  as 
lives,  and  has  always  been  most  unreasonably  used  by 
that  old  tyrant.  The  title  of  Somerset  will  revert  to  Sir 
Edward  Seymour,  whose  line  has  been  most  unjustly 
deprived  of  it  since  the  first  creation.' 

In  a  letter  to  Lady  Luxborough,  written  a  year  after 
her  son's  death,  Lady  Hertford  says  that  she  has  been  to 
town  to  show  herself  at  St.  James's,  and  has  had  some  fine 
clothes  for  the  occasion ;  '  but, alas !  you  may  guess  how  un- 
suitably they  sate  upon  me,  as  I  had  till  that  time  (though 
a  month  beyond  the  year  from  the  sad  time  when  I  put  it 
on)  worn  a  dress  much  better  suited  to  the  sentiments 
of  my  heart,  which  must  ever  labour  under  its  irrepar- 
able misfortune.  The  King  was  obliging  to  the  last 
degree;  but  the  compassion  which  his  good-nature  made 
him  feel  for  me  was  so  visible,  both  in  his  looks  and  in 
the  alteration  it  occasioned  in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  that 
50 


it  was  impossible  for  me  to  restrain  my  tears  till  he  had 
done  speaking  to  me.  There  was  a  great  crowd,  but  I 
had  so  thick  a  mist  before  my  eyes  the  whole  time  that  I 
dorit  know  how  anybody  was  dressed? 

The  old  Duke  of  Somerset  died  unregretted  in  1748, 
and  Lady  Hertford  was  transformed  into  the  Duchess 
of  Somerset.  Her  only  surviving  child,  Lady  Betty, 
married  a  Yorkshire  baronet,  Sir  Hugh  Smithson,  whose 
grandfather  was  said  to  have  either  let  or  driven 
stage-coaches.  A  part  of  the  great  Northumberland 
estates,  and  the  Percy  barony,  descended  to  Lady  Betty, 
her  grandmother,  the  proud  Duke  of  Somerset's  first 
wife,  having  been  the  heiress  of  the  house  of  Percy. 
Rather  to  the  scandal  of  society,  Sir  Hugh  was  created 
successively  Earl  and  Duke  of  Northumberland,  and  is 
reported  to  have  given  himself  all  the  airs  of  a  genuine 
Percy.  On  the  death  of  Lady  Hertford's  husband  in 
1749,  the  Dukedom  of  Somerset  passed  to  Sir  Edward 
Seymour,  the  representative  of  the  elder  branch  of  the 
family,  while  Francis  Seymour,  Lord  Conway,  was  created 
Earl  of  Hertford. 

Lady  Hertford,  now  Dowager-Duchess  of  Somerset, 
lived  quietly  during  the  five  years  of  her  widowhood  at 
Richkings,  the  name  of  which  house  had  been  changed 
to  Percy  Lodge.  She  still  kept  up  with  the  literature 
of  her  day.  '  Have  you  met,'  she  asks  Lady  Lux- 
borough,  '  with  two  little  volumes  which  contain  four 
contemplations  written  by  a  Mr.  James  Hervey,1  a  young 
Cornish  or  Devonshire  clergyman  ?  The  subjects  are 
upon  walking  upon  the  tombs,  upon  a  flower-garden, 
upon  night,  and  upon  the  starry  heavens.  There  is 

1  Hervey's  Meditations  among  the  Tombs  appeared  in  1745,  and  his 
Contemplations  in  1747. 

51 


LADY  HERTFORD  AND 

something  poetical  and  truly  pious  in  them.  ...  I  have 
been  very  well  entertained  lately  with  the  two  first 
volumes  of  The  Foundling  [Tom  Jones],  written  by 
Mr.  Fielding,  but  not  to  be  published  till  January 
(1749).  If  the  same  spirit  runs  through  the  whole 
work,  I  think  it  will  be  much  preferable  to  Joseph 
Andrews. ,' 

In  1753  the  Duchess  sends  a  message  through  Lady 
Luxborough  to  Shenstone,  thanking  him  for  the  honour 
he  had  done  her  in  inscribing  his  Ode  upon  Rural 
Elegance  to  her,  and  continues  :  '  I  am  persuaded  he  is 
master  of  the  subject,  for  I  have  heard  from  people  who 
saw  his  gardens  not  long  ago  that  they  are  the  most 
perfect  models  of  it.  I  hope  you  will  prevail  on  Mr. 
Shenstone  to  let  me  see  his  Ode.1  After  she  had  read 
the  poem,  the  Duchess  wrote  to  Shenstone  (with  whom 
she  was  not  personally  acquainted)  begging  him  to  insert 
stars  or  dashes  wherever  her  name  or  that  of  Percy 
Lodge  was  mentioned  in  it,  observing ;  '  The  world  in 
general,  since  they  can  find  no  fault  with  your  poem, 
will  blame  the  choice  of  the  person  to  whom  it  is 
addressed,  and  draw  mortifying  comparisons  between  the 
ideal  lady  and  the  real  one.1  These  alterations  may 
have  been  made  at  the  time,  but  in  Shenstone's  pub- 
lished works  the  names  appear  in  full.  A  verse  or  two 
from  the  Ode  to  Rural  Elegance  may  here  be  quoted 
as  a  specimen  of  the  complimentary  poetry  of  a  period 
when  the  poet's  chief  hope  of  pecuniary  reward  rested 
upon  aristocratic  patronage.  Shenstone  celebrates  the 
Duchess's  encouragement  of  the  fine  arts  in  the  lines : — 

( And  tho'  by  faithless  friends  alarmed, 
Art  have  with  Nature  waged  presumptuous  war ; 
By  Seymour's  winning  influence  charmed, 
52 


LADY  POMFRET 

In  whom  their  gifts  united  shine, 

No  longer  shall  their  counsels  jar. 

'Tis  her  to  mediate  the  peace  ; 

Near  Percy  Lodge,  with  awestruck  mien, 

The  rebel  seeks  her  awful  queen, 

And  havoc  and  contention  cease. 

I  see  the  rival  powers  combine, 

And  aid  each  other's  fair  design  ; 

Nature  exalt  the  mound  where  art  shall  build ; 

Art  shape  tne  gay  alcove,  while  Nature  paints  the  field. 

Begin,  ye  songsters  of  the  grove  ! 

O  warble  forth  your  noblest  lay  ! 

Where  Somerset  vouchsafes  to  rove, 

Ye  leverets,  freely  sport  and  play. 

— Peace  to  the  strepent  horn  ! 

Let  no  harsh  dissonance  disturb  the  morn, 

No  sounds  inelegant  and  rude 

Her  sacred  solitudes  prophane  ! 

Unless  her  candour  not  exclude 

The  lonely  shepherd's  votive  strain, 

Who  tunes  his  reed  amidst  his  rural  cheer, 

Fearful,  yet  not  averse,  that  Somerset  should  hear.' 

The  Duchess  survived  this  ode  (which  scarcely  reaches 
the  level  of  her  own  verse)  just  four  years,  dying  in 
1754  at  the  age  of  fifty-five.  She  was  buried  in  St. 
Nicholas1  Chapel,  Westminster  Abbey.  For  several 
years  after  the  publication  of  Lady  Hertford^  and  Lady 
Pomfret's  correspondence,  the  two  friends  were  held  up 
to  young  people  as  models  of  virtue,  culture,  and  refine- 
ment ;  and  it  must  have  come  as  a  sensible  shock  to  many 
excellent  people  when  the  bubble  of  their  pretensions 
was  pricked  by  Horace  Walpole,  and  they  were  exhibited 
as  two  well-meaning  ladies  with  a  tendency  to  talk  and 
write  upon  subjects  which  they  did  not  altogether 
understand. 

53 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 


RICHARD   CUMBERLAND 

(1732-1811) 
PART    I 

RICHARD  CUMBERLAND,  playwright,  novelist,  poet,  essayist, 
and  editor,  civil  servant  and  amateur  diplomatist,  belongs 
to  that  numerous  body  of  authors  who  have  had  to  pay 
for  temporary  popularity  by  permanent  neglect.  His 
comedies  have  not  held  the  stage  like  those  of  his  con- 
temporaries, Sheridan  and  Goldsmith ;  his  novels  are  no 
longer  read  like  those  of  his  model,  Henry  Fielding; 
his  Observer  essays  have  not  become  a  classic  like  the 
Spectator  and  the  Rambler ;  his  poems  are  dead ;  his 
pamphlets  are  forgotten ;  and  even  his  delightful  Memoirs 
have  hardly  taken  the  place  they  deserve  in  the  bio- 
graphical literature  of  his  period.  Yet  this  last  book 
is  a  veritable  human  document,  the  confessions  of  an 
original  character,  the  candid  record  of  an  eventful  life. 
The  intimate  friend  of  Johnson,  Boswell,  Garrick,  and 
Reynolds,  who  was  commemorated  as  the  '  Terence  of 
England '  by  Goldsmith,  and  caricatured  as  Sir  Fretful 
Plagiary  by  Sheridan,  who  lived  to  edit  a  rival  to  the 
Quarterly  Review,  and  to  appoint  the  poet  Rogers  as  his 
executor, — is  not  this  a  man  worth  listening  to  when  he 
chooses  to  gossip  to  us  of  his  works,  his  friendships,  his 
adventures  and  experiences? 

57 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

Of  one  fact  the  reader  of  the  Memoirs  is  speedily  convinced, 
namely,  that  the  author  of  them  missed  his  true  vocation 
in  life.  The  great-grandson  of  Dr.  Richard  Cumberland,1 
appointed  Bishop  of  Peterborough  in  1691,  and  author 
of  a  learned  refutation  of  the  tenets  of  Hobbes ;  and 
grandson,  on  the  maternal  side,  of  that  giant  of  criticism 
and  controversy,  Dr.  Richard  Bentley,  Master  of  Trinity, 
young  Cumberland  seems  to  have  had  a  congenital  in- 
clination towards  a  life  of  learned  ease,  secluded  by 
college  or  cloister  walls  from  the  noise  and  bustle  of  the 
outside  world.  He  would  have  been  happy  could  he 
have  spent  his  days  in  a  quiet  study,  editing  some  obscure 
Greek  author,  or  preparing  erudite  theological  pamphlets 
wherein  to  crush  a  heretic  bishop  or  cross  swords  with  a 
wire-drawing  metaphysician.  But  this  was  not  to  be. 
The  world  claimed  the  would-be  recluse,  and  the  earnest 
student  fell  a  prey  to  politicians  and  the  theatrical 
public. 

Cumberland,  who  was  born  at  Trinity  Lodge  in  1732, 
draws  an  unexpectedly  attractive  portrait  of  his  famous 
grandfather,  for  '  Slashing  Bentley  with  his  desperate 
hook'  was  longsuffering  with  children,  advocated  the 
answering  of  their  incessant  questions,  and  patiently 
interpreted  their  first  attempts  at  reasoning.  *  When 
I  was  rallied  by  my  mother  for  roundly  asserting  that 
I  never  slept,'  says  his  grandson,  *  I  remember  full  well 
his  calling  me  to  account  for  it ;  and  when  I  explained 
myself  by  saying  that  I  never  knew  myself  to  be  asleep, 
and  therefore  supposed  I  never  slept,  he  gave  me  credit 
for  my  defence,  and  said  to  my  mother,  "  Leave  the  boy 
in  possession  of  his  opinion ;  he  has  as  clear  a  concep- 

1  A  college  friend  of  Samuel   Pepys.     The  diarist  was  anxious  that 
Cumberland  should  marry  his  sister  '  Poll.' 

58 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

tion  of  sleep,  and  at  least  as  comfortable  a  one,  as  the 
philosophers  who  puzzle  their  brains  about  it,  and  do  not 
rest  so  well."1  The  good  doctor  showed  perhaps  more 
zeal  than  judgment  when  he  took  down  picture-books 
from  his  shelves  in  order  to  amuse  his  grandchildren, 
these  books  containing  for  the  most  part  anatomical 
drawings  of  dissected  bodies,  and  proving,  we  may 
believe,  a  fruitful  source  of  nightmare. 

Bentley's  daughter  and  Cumberland's  mother,  Joanna, 
was  the  Phoebe  of  Byrom's  pretty  pastoral,  written  when 
the  poet  was  a  student  at  Trinity  College,  and  first 
printed  in  the  Spectator.  The  poem  begins : — 

'  My  time,  O  ye  Muses,  was  happily  spent 
When  Phoebe  went  with  me  wherever  I  went, 
Ten  thousand  sweet  pleasures  I  felt  in  my  breast  : 
Sure  never  fond  shepherd  like  Colin  was  blest. 
But  now  she  is  gone  and  has  left  me  behind, 
What  a  marvellous  change  on  a  sudden  I  find  ! 
When  things  were  as  fine  as  could  possibly  be, 
I  thought  'twas  the  spring,  but,  alas  !  it  was  she.' 

Joanna  was  no  unworthy  specimen  of  the  Bentley 
stock.  '  All  that  son  can  owe  to  parent  or  disciple  to 
teacher,  I  owe  to  her/  says  Richard,  as  so  many  other 
successful  men  have  said  of  their  mothers.  '  She  had  a 
vivacity  of  fancy  and  a  strength  of  intellect  in  which  few 
men  were  her  superiors;  she  read  much,  remembered  well, 
and  discerned  acutely;  I  never  knew  the  person  who  could 
better  embellish  any  subject  she  was  upon,  or  render  com- 
mon incidents  more  entertaining  by  the  happy  art  of  re- 
lating them.  .  .  .  Though  strictly  pious,  there  was  no 
gloom  in  her  religion,  and  she  possessed  the  happy  faculty 
of  making  every  doctrine  pleasant  and  every  duty  sweet.1 

Richard  Cumberland  the  elder,  for  many  years  Rector 

59 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

of  Stanwick  in  Northamptonshire,  was,  one  suspects, 
scarcely  so  highly  endowed  in  intellect  as  his  wife,  but 
we  are  assured  that  *  in  moral  piety  he  was  truly  a 
Christian,  in  generosity  and  honour  he  was  perfectly  a 
gentleman.1  With  two  such  parents  it  seems  a  pity  that 
young  Richard  should  have  been  sent  off  to  a  school  at 
Bury  St.  Edmunds  when  only  six  years  old.  He  con- 
fesses that  for  some  time  he  was  supremely  idle,  and 
always  at  the  bottom  of  his  class.  But  being  publicly 
lectured  on  his  iniquities  by  the  headmaster,  and  asked 
what  sort  of  report  he  could  expect  to  have  sent  to  his 
grandfather  Bentley,  he  at  once  set  to  work  in  good 
earnest,  and,  quickly  rising  to  the  top  of  each  class  in 
turn,  presently  became  the  head  boy  of  the  school,  which 
proud  position  he  held  against  all  competitors.  The 
holidays  were  generally  spent  at  Cambridge ;  but  when 
at  home  the  boy  used  to  go  out  hunting  with  his  father, 
both  being  admirably  mounted.  Mr.  Cumberland  shared 
a  pack  of  harriers  with  a  neighbouring  gentleman,  and 
was  himself  a  first-rate  horseman. 

'  In  my  first  attendance  on  him  to  the  field,"  observes 
Richard,  *  the  joys  of  hunting  scarcely  compensated  for 
the  terrors  I  sometimes  felt  in  following  him  upon  a 
racing  galloway  whose  attachment  to  her  leader  was  such 
as  left  me  no  option  as  to  the  pace  I  would  go  or  the 
leaps  I  wished  to  take.1 

At  home  the  boy  read  aloud  the  best  authors  to  his 
mother,  thus  early  acquiring  a  taste  for  literature,  and 
more  especially  for  the  works  of  Shakespeare.  '  The 
comments  and  illustrations  of  Bentley's  daughter  were 
such  aids  to  a  pupil  in  poetry  as  few  could  have  given. 
With  all  her  father's  critical  acumen  she  could  trace 
and  teach  me  to  unravel  all  the  meanders  of  the  poet's 
60 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

metaphor,  and  point  out  where  it  illuminated,  and  where 
it  only  obscured  the  text.'  In  his  twelfth  year  Richard 
composed  a  kind  of  cento  in  blank  verse,  called  Shake- 
speare in  the  Shades,  in  which  some  of  the  poet's 
characters  plead  their  cause  before  him  in  Elysium,  and 
have  judgment  passed  upon  them.  Speeches  from  the 
plays  are  ingeniously  woven  into  the  texture  of  the  work, 
which  was  an  extraordinary  production  for  a  twelve- 
year-old  schoolboy. 

From  Bury  St.  Edmunds  Richard  was  sent  to  West- 
minster, and,  unlike  most  boys,  speaks  of  the  school,  the 
masters,  and  his  fellow-pupils  in  the  most  glowing  terms. 
There  was  a  high  standard  of  scholarship  in  the  school ; 
and  his  Latin  verses,  which  at  Bury  had  been  thought  to 
contain  too  much '  fancy,1  here  found  appreciative  notice. 
A  court  of  honour  was  held  among  the  boys,  to  which 
every  member  of  the  community  was  amenable,  Dr. 
Nichols  having  the  art  of  making  all  his  scholars  gentle- 
men. A  first  visit  to  the  play  was  a  great  event  in  the 
life  of  a  boy  who  had  already  tried  his  hand  at  dramatic 
writing.  Richard  was  lucky  enough  to  see  Lothario 
acted  by  the  chief  stars  of  the  time — Mrs.  Gibber,  Quin, 
and  Garrick.  The  actress,  we  are  told,  recited  Rowe's  lines 
in  the  manner  of  an  improvisatore,  while  Quin  rolled  out 
his  heroics  with  little  variety  of  tone.  '  But  when  after 
long  and  eager  expectation  I  first  beheld  little  Garrick,1 
then  young,  and  light,  and  active  in  every  muscle  and 
every  feature,  come  bounding  on  the  stage,  heavens,  what  a 
change  !  It  seemed  as  if  a  whole  century  had  been  stept 
over  in  the  transition  of  a  single  scene.  This  heaven- 
born  actor  was  then  struggling  to  emancipate  his  audience 

1  This  must  have  been  about  1744-45,  when  Garrick,  who  was  born  in 
1716,  would  be  under  thirty.  K 

61 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

from  the  slavery  they  were  resigned  to ;  and  though  at 
times  he  succeeded  in  throwing  some  light  upon  them, 
yet  in  general  they  seemed  to  love  darkness  better  than 
light.1 

Cumberland  condescends  to  but  few  dates  in  the 
course  of  his  story ;  but  we  know  when  we  have  reached 
the  year  1745  by  the  fact  that  the  Scottish  rebels  were 
marching  through  England,  and  had  got  as  far  south 
as  Derby.  The  outlook  was  a  gloomy  one;  but  that 
muscular  Christian,  the  Rector  of  Stanwick,  assembled 
his  neighbours  and  persuaded  them  to  turn  out  in 
defence  of  their  country.  At  the  expense  merely  of  the 
enlisting  shillings,  he  raised  two  full  companies  of  a 
hundred  each,  and  marched  them  to  Northampton, 
where  he  was  received  with  shouts  and  acclamations  by 
the  populace.  Lord  Halifax,  who  was  to  command  the 
regiment,  insisted  upon  bestowing  one  of  the  companies 
on  Richard,  who,  however,  was  too  young  to  take  up  the 
commission.  Many  of  the  recruits  afterwards  lost  their 
lives  at  the  siege  of  Carlisle,  and  the  distress  in  which 
their  families  were  left  brought  a  considerable  and  lasting 
charge  upon  Mr.  Cumberland. 

In  the  following  year  the  Cumberlands  paid  a  visit  to 
London,  where  their  eldest  daughter,  Joanna,  a  girl  of  six- 
teen, fell  a  victim  to  confluent  smallpox.  The  shock  of 
this  event,  and  the  abhorrence  of  London  aroused  by  it 
in  the  father's  mind,  determined  him  to  remove  his  son 
from  Westminster,  and,  though  the  boy  was  only  in  his 
fourteenth  year,  to  enter  him  at  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge. During  his  first  two  years  at  the  University, 
Richard  was  entirely  neglected  by  his  tutors,  and  amused 
himself  in  his  own  fashion  with  his  favourite  authors, 
and  an  occasional  ride  into  the  country.  In  his  third 
62 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

year,  however,  he  was  turned  over  to  more  conscientious 
tutors,  and  urged  to  work  for  his  degree.  Determined 
to  make  up  for  lost  time,  he  now  allowed  himself  only 
six  hours'  sleep,  lived  almost  entirely  on  milk,  and 
'  frequently  used  the  cold  bath.'  By  the  help  of  this 
discipline  he  mastered  the  best  treatises  on  mechanics, 
optics,  and  astronomy,  worked  out  all  his  propositions  in 
Latin,  and  acquired  great  facility  in  expounding  and 
arguing  in  that  language.  He  also  entered  for  the 
public  exercises,  keeping  two  acts  and  two  opponencies 
in  the  year,  and  triumphing  over  all  his  adversaries. 
After  going  in  for  his  B.A.  examination  he  collapsed,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  and  lay  between  life  and 
death  for  the  best  part  of  six  months.  His  convalescence 
was  cheered  by  the  news  of  the  high  station  he  had  been 
adjudged  among  the  wranglers  of  his  year,  and  he  felt 
that  at  last  he  had  conquered  a  position  of  ease  and 
credit  in  his  college,  his  chief  object  at  this  time  being 
to  follow  his  learned  ancestors  in  their  profession,  and 
not  to  fall  behind  them  in  their  fame.  In  the  course  of 
three  years  he  had  every  reason  to  expect  a  fellowship ; 
and  quite  content  with  his  prospects,  he  returned  to 
college,  where  he  began  to  form  a  Collectanea  of  his 
studies,  and  with  youthful  modesty  contemplated  writing 
a  Universal  History ! 

But  Fate  had  very  different  intentions  with  regard  to 
him.  At  a  recent  general  election  Mr.  Cumberland  had 
given  his  active  support  to  the  Whig  candidate  for 
Derby ;  and  Lord  Halifax,  then  Lord-Lieutenant  of  the 
county,  wishing  to  make  some  return  for  his  services, 
offered  his  private  secretaryship  to  the  energetic  parson's 
son.  This  offer,  with  all  it  might  be  supposed  to  lead 
to,  was  considered  too  good  to  be  refused ;  and  after 

63 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

another  term  at  Cambridge,  Richard  went  to  London  to 
take  up  his  duties,  though  his  post  seems  to  have  been 
little  more  than  a  sinecure.  He  was,  he  tells  us,  quite 
unfitted  for  dependence,  had  studied  books,  not  men,  and 
asked  nothing  better  than  to  be  left  in  his  learned 
seclusion.  '  With  a  head  filled  with  Latin  and  Greek,' 
he  continues,  '  and  a  heart  left  behind  me  in  college,  I 
was  completely  out  of  my  element.  I  saw  myself  unlike 
the  people  about  me,  and  was  embarrassed  in  circles 
which,  according  to  the  manners  of  those  days,  were 
not  to  be  approached  without  a  set  of  ceremonies  and 
manoeuvres  not  very  pleasant  to  perform,  and  when 
awkwardly  practised  not  very  interesting  to  behold.' 

Lord  Halifax,1  then  President  of  the  Board  of  Trade, 
is  described  as  a  fine  classical  scholar,  as  well  as  a  model 
of  all  the  graces.  He  was  married  to  Miss  Dunk,  a 
great  heiress  and  most  exemplary  lady ;  and  as  long  as 
she  lived  Richard  seems  to  have  got  on  fairly  well  with 
his  patron,  though  he  was  not  intrusted  with  much  con- 
fidential employment.  It  is  evident  that  he  was  not 
happy  in  the  career  that  had  thus  been  thrust  upon  him. 
He  still  lived  a  sequestered  life ;  and  though  he  had 
plenty  of  opportunities  of  advancement,  never  turned 
them  to  his  own  advantage.  In  the  recess  he  went  to 
Cambridge  for  his  final  examination,  and  was  elected  a 
Fellow  of  Trinity.  Now  was  his  time  to  have  broken  off 
his  connection  with  Lord  Halifax  and  returned  to  his 
chosen  walk  in  life.  But  fearing  to  disappoint  his 
family,  he  let  the  chance  slip,  and  settled  down  again  in 
London,  where  he  published  a  churchyard  elegy  which 

1  Born  in  1716,  died  in  1771.     He  earned  the  title  of  the  Father  of 
the  Colonies. 

64 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

failed  to  interest  the  public,  and  contemplated  an  epic 
poem  on  India. 

The  death  of  Lady  Halifax  in  1753  was  a  misfortune 
for  her  whole  household,  and  little  short  of  a  disaster 
for  her  husband.  '  About  this  time,1  to  use  our  hero's 
own  method  of  dating  events,  Mr.  Cumberland  the 
elder  exchanged  the  living  of  Stanwick,  which  he  had 
held  for  thirty  years,  for  that  of  Fulham,  in  order  that 
he  might  be  near  his  son.  In  the  adjoining  village 
of  Hammersmith,  Bubb  Dodington,  afterwards  Lord 
Melcombe,  had  a  splendid  villa,  which  for  some  reason 
best  known  to  himself  he  was  pleased  to  call  '  La 
Trappe.1  Young  Cumberland  made  the  acquaintance 
of  this  distinguished  neighbour,  and  became  a  frequent 
visitor  at  his  house.  In  the  summer  of  1756,  when 
Lord  Halifax  had  thrown  up  his  office  in  consequence  of 
a  squabble  with  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  Richard,  now 
the  ex-secretary  of  an  ex-statesman,  was  glad  to  accept 
Dodington's  invitation  to  stay  at  Eastbury,  his  country- 
house  in  Dorsetshire.  Our  hero  had  a  pretty  touch  in 
character-drawing,  and  he  gives  an  amusing  sketch  of 
the  eccentricities  of  his  host. 

The  future  Lord  Melcombe  had  a  brilliant  wit, 
and  was  an  elegant  Latin  scholar,  but  he  dearly  loved 
a  lord,  and  Lord  Bute  was  the  god  of  his  idolatry. 
He  kept  up  great  state  at  Eastbury,  we  are  told,  though 
at  less  cost  than  could  have  been  done  by  most  men. 
His  salon  was  hung  with  the  finest  Gobelin;  and  he 
slept  in  a  bed  encanopied  with  peacocks'  feathers. 
His  wardrobe  was  loaded  with  rich  and  flaring  suits 
of  past  dates,  but  he  contrived  never  to  put  his  old 
dresses  out  of  countenance  by  any  variation  in  the 
fashion  of  the  new.  Pictures  he  only  estimated  by  their 
E  65 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

cost,  and  he  possessed  none  himself;  but  he  told  his 
guest  that  if  he  had  half  a  score  worth  a  thousand 
pounds  a-piece,  he  would  gladly  decorate  his  rooms  with 
them.  In  the  absence  of  works  of  art,  however,  '  he 
had  stuck  up  immense  patches  of  gilt  leather,  shaped 
into  bugle-horns,  upon  hangings  of  rich  crimson  velvet ; 
and  round  his  state-bed  he  displayed  a  carpet  of  gold 
and  silver  embroidery  which  glaringly  betrayed  its  deriva- 
tion from  coat,  waistcoat,  or  breeches,  by  the  testimony 
of  pockets,  loops,  and  button-holes  ! ' 

It  was  Dodington's  custom  to  entertain  his  company 
with  reading  aloud  in  the  evening,  and  in  this  art  he 
excelled.  His  selections,  however,  were  more  curious 
than  appropriate  ;  for  he  treated  his  feminine  guests, 
among  whom  were  Lady  Hervey1  and  the  Dowager 
Lady  Stafford,  with  the  whole  of  Jonathan  IVild,  in 
which  choice  he  consulted  his  own  turn  for  irony  rather 
than  theirs  for  elegance,  but  the  old  ladies  were  polite 
enough  to  be  pleased,  or  at  any  rate  to  appear  so. 
Cumberland  was  shown  the  famous,  or  rather  the  infamous 
Diary ;  and  being  asked  what  he  would  do  with  it  if  it 
were  left  to  his  discretion,  instantly  replied  that  he 
would  destroy  it,  whereat  the  writer  was  obviously 
disgusted.  A  more  attractive  work  was  a  manuscript 
collection  of  witticisms,  of  which  Dodington  was  part 
author,  part  compiler.  With  this  he  was  accustomed  to 
refresh  his  memory  when  he  expected  to  meet  any  man 
of  conspicuous  wit  or  conversational  talent. 

'  During  my  stay  at  Eastbury,1  writes  Cumberland, 
'  we  were  visited  by  the  late  Mr.  Henry  Fox 2  and  Mr. 


1  Mary  Lepel,  widow  of  John,  Lord  Hervey. 

2  Afterwards  the  first  Lord  Holland. 


66 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

Alderman  Beckford  ;*  the  solid  good  sense  of  the  former, 
and  the  dashing  loquacity  of  the  latter,  formed  a  strik- 
ing contrast  between  the  characters  of  these  gentlemen. 
To  Mr.  Fox  our  host  paid  all  that  courtly  homage  which 
he  knew  so  well  how  to  time  and  where  to  apply ;  to 
Beckford  he  did  not  observe  the  same  attentions,  but  in 
the  happiest  flow  of  his  raillery  and  wit  combated  this 
intrepid  talker  with  admirable  effect.  It  was  an  inter- 
lude truly  comic  and  amusing.  Beckford,  loud,  voluble, 
self-sufficient,  and  galled  by  hits  that  he  could  not 
parry,  and  probably  did  not  expect,  laid  himself  more 
and  more  open  in  the  vehemence  of  his  argument ;  Dod- 
ington,  lolling  in  his  chair  in  perfect  apathy  and  self- 
command,  dozing  and  even  snoring  at  intervals  in  his 
lethargic  way,  broke  out  every  now  and  then  into  such 
gleams  and  flashes  of  wit  and  irony,  as  by  the  contrast 
of  his  phlegm  with  the  other's  loquacity  made  his 
humour  irresistible,  and  set  the  table  in  a  roar."1 

On  his  return  to  town  Cumberland  wrote  his  first 
legitimate  drama,  The  Banishment  of  Cicero.  Although 
he  was  not,  as  he  confesses,  very  happy  in  the  choice  of 
a  subject,  the  play  was  read  and  praised  by  Lord  Halifax 
and  by  Dr.  Warburton.  The  former  proposed  to  take 
it  to  Garrick,  who  was  then  living  at  Hampton,  and 
recommend  it  to  him  for  representation.  Patron  and 
secretary  accordingly  bearded  the  manager  in  his  own 
home  ;  but  Cumberland  was  quick  to  perceive  the  embar- 
rassment which  the  introduction  of  his  manuscript  occa- 
sioned, and  recognised  that  his  cause  was  desperate, 
though  his  advocate  continued  sanguine,  and  Garrick 
promised  an  attentive  perusal.  *  But  those  tell-tale 
features,  so  miraculously  gifted  in  the  art  of  assumed 
1  Father  of  the  author  of  Vathek,  and  twice  Lord  Mayor  of  London. 

67 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

emotions,  could  not  mask  their  real  ones,  and  I  had 
no  expectation  of  my  play  being  accepted.1  A 'day  or 
two  later  Garrick  returned  the  manuscript  with  many 
apologies  to  his  lordship  for  his  inability  to  use  it,  and 
a  few  qualifying  words  to  its  author,  which,  as  Cumber- 
land admits,  was  as  much  as  could  be  expected  from 
him,  though  it  did  not  satisfy  the  patron  of  the  play,  who 
warmly  resented  this  non-compliance  with  his  wishes, 
and  for  a  length  of  time  forbore  to  live  in  his  former 
habits  of  good  neighbourhood  with  Garrick.  Poor 
Garrick  !  how  often  in  his  career  must  he  have  had  to 
choose  between  offending  a  powerful  patron  and  boring 
his  public ! 

In  February  1759,  on  his  twenty-seventh  birthday, 
Cumberland  was  married  to  his  cousin,  Elizabeth  Ridge. 
He  had  previously  obtained  a  small  place  as  Crown 
Agent  for  the  colony  of  Nova  Scotia,  worth  two  hundred 
a  year,  which  in  addition  to  his  own  means  was  con- 
sidered just  sufficient  to  support  a  modest  establishment, 
until  such  time  as  Lord  Halifax  came  into  place  again. 
Upon  the  death  of  George  n.  in  the  following  year,  all 
eyes  were  turned  upon  the  favourite,  Lord  Bute.  With 
his  accession  to  power,  Lord  Halifax  obtained  the  Lord- 
Lieutenancy  of  Ireland,  and  prepared  to  open  his 
Majesty's  first  Parliament  in  that  country.  The  vicar 
of  Fulham  was  appointed  one  of  the  chaplains,  with  a 
prospect  of  a  mitre  later  on,  while  Richard  obtained 
places  for  two  of  his  brothers-in-law.  He  was  dis- 
appointed at  only  receiving  the  Ulster  Secretaryship  for 
his  own  share,  '  Single-speech '  Hamilton  having  nego- 
tiated himself  into  the  office  of  Chief  Secretary.  Leaving 
his  two  children  with  their  grandmother  Ridge  in  Eng- 
land, Cumberland  sailed  for  Ireland  in  1761  with  his 
68 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

wife  and  parents,  and  established  his  family  in  a  house 
at  Dublin. 

He  had  taken  leave  of  his  friend  Dodington,  now 
Lord  Melcombe,  the  day  before  the  Coronation,  and  had 
found  him  before  a  looking-glass  in  his  new  robes, 
practising  attitudes,  and  debating  within  himself  upon 
the  most  graceful  mode  of  carrying  his  coronet  in  the 
procession.  f  He  was  in  high  glee  with  his  fresh 
and  blooming  honours,  and  I  left  him  in  the  act  of 
dictating  a  billet  to  Lady  Hervey,  apprising  her  that  a 
young  lord  was  coming  to  throw  himself  at  her  feet.' 
At  this  time  Cumberland's  uncle,  Richard  Bentley,  was 
patronised  by  Lord  Melcombe  as  a  man  likely  to  do 
good  service  to  the  party  with  his  pen.  Bentley  is  now 
chiefly  remembered  as  the  friend  and  correspondent  of 
Horace  Walpole,  with  whom,  as  Cumberland  said,  he 
carried  on  for  a  long  time  a  sickly  kind  of  friendship, 
which  had  in  it  too  much  of  the  bitter  of  dependence  to 
be  gratifying  to  the  taste  of  a  man  of  spirit  and  sensi- 
bility. The  friendship,  however,  had  its  hot  fits  and 
cold  fits,  and  in  one  of  the  former  Walpole  writes  :  '  I 
adore  Mr.  Bentley;  he  has  more  sense,  judgment,  and  wit, 
more  taste  and  more  misfortunes  than  sure  ever  met  in 
any  man.  I  have  heard  that  Dr.  Bentley,  regretting  his 
want  of  taste  for  all  such  learning  as  his,  which  is  the 
very  want  of  taste,  used  to  sigh  and  say  "  Tully  had  his 
Marcus." ' 

Unfortunately,  Bentley  was  an  unpractical  genius, 
whose  debts,  together  with  an  unsatisfactory  wife,  kept 
him  in  constant  hot  water.  In  June  1761,  however, 
fortune  seemed  to  smile  upon  him.  He  wrote  a  clever, 
though  unequal  comedy,  with  a  political  motif,  called 
The  Three  Wishes,  which  Walpole  heard  Lord 

69 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

Melcombe  read  aloud  in  a  circle  at  Lady  Hervey's. 
'  Cumberland,'  writes  Horace,  '  had  carried  it  to  him 
(Lord  Melcombe)  with  a  recommendatory  copy  of  verses, 
containing  more  incense  to  the  King  and  my  Lord  Bute 
than  the  Magi  brought  in  their  portmanteaux  to  Jeru- 
salem. The  idols  were  propitious.  A  banknote  of 
£200  was  sent  from  the  Treasury  to  the  author,  and 
the  play  was  ordered  to  be  performed  by  the  summer 
company."1  The  Wishes  was  acted  at  Drury  Lane  by 
Foote,  Murphy,  and  O'Brien ;  but  though  Lord  Halifax 
and  Lord  Melcombe  were  in  the  stage-box,  the  one 
prompting  the  actors,  and  the  other  running  backwards 
and  forwards  behind  the  scenes,  the  play  was  a  failure, 
only  surviving  five  performances. 

The  pictures  drawn  by  Cumberland  of  Irish  life  and 
society  in  the  early  years  of  George  m.'s  reign  are 
both  characteristic  and  amusing.  Like  most  of  his 
contemporaries  who  visited  Dublin,  the  young  Ulster 
secretary  found  the  society  of  the  Irish  capital  very 
different  in  tone  and  manner  from  that  of  London. 
The  profusion  of  the  tables  struck  him  with  amaze- 
ment, while  '  the  professional  gravity  of  character  main- 
tained by  our  English  dignitaries  was  laid  aside  ;  and 
in  several  prelatical  houses  the  mitre  was  so  mingled 
with  the  cockade,  and  the  glass  circulated  so  freely, 
that  I  perceived  the  spirit  of  conviviality  was  by  no 
means  excluded  from  the  pale  of  the  Church.'  Of  the 
intellectual  powers  of  his  fellow-secretary,  Hamilton, 
Cumberland  held  a  high  opinion,  declaring  that  he  spoke 
well,  though  not  often,  and  that  his  style  strongly 
resembled  the  style  of  Junius.  Edmund  Burke  he  only 
saw  once  by  accident  while  the  young  orator  was  in 
attendance  upon  Hamilton,  but  it  was  about  this  time 
70 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

that  Burke  broke  off  his  connection  with  his  patron  of 
single-speech  fame. 

One  of  the  most  entertaining  of  Cumberland's  Irish 
acquaintances  was  George  Faulkener,  the  piratical 
publisher,  whose  name  was  blasphemed  by  most  of 
the  English  authors  of  the  period.  Faulkener's  niece 
had  been  engaged  as  governess  to  Lord  Halifax's 
daughter,  and  for  some  time  past  had  been  carrying  on 
a  liaison  with  her  employer.  For  her  sake  he  had  broken 
off  a  proposed  match  with  the  daughter  and  heiress  of 
Sir  Thomas  Drury.  Miss  Faulkener  accompanied  him 
to  Ireland,  and  obtained  an  evil  celebrity  as  a  place- 
monger.  Her  uncle,  according  to  Cumberland,  was  the 
only  person  whom  Footers  extravagant  pencil  could  not 
caricature,  for  he  had  a  solemn  intrepidity  of  egotism 
and  a  daring  contempt  of  absurdity  that  fully  outfaced 
imitation.  '  I  sate  at  his  table  once  from  dinner  till 
two  in  the  morning,''  he  tells  us,  '  whilst  George  swal- 
lowed immense  potations,  with  one  solitary  strawberry 
at  the  bottom  of  his  glass,  which  he  said  was  recom- 
mended to  him  by  his  doctor  for  its  cooling  propensities. 
He  never  lost  recollection  or  equilibrium  the  whole  time, 
but  was  in  excellent  foolery.  It  was  a  singular  coinci- 
dence that  there  was  a  person  in  company  who  had 
been  reprieved  from  the  gallows,  as  well  as  the  judge 
who  had  passed  sentence  upon  him.  This  did  not  in 
the  least  disturb  the  harmony  of  the  society,  nor  embar- 
rass any  human  creature  present.1 

In  1762  Lord  Halifax  was  appointed  Secretary  of 
State,  and  returned  to  England.  The  short  sojourn  in 
Ireland  did  not  result  in  much  advantage  to  the  Ulster 
secretary,  who  was  offered  a  baronetcy  at  the  conclusion 
of  his  patron's  term  of  office,  'a  mouthful  of  moon- 

71 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

shine '  which  he  refused.  His  father,  however,  obtained 
the  Bishopric  of  Clonfert,  and  '  wore  the  mitre  to  his 
last  hour  with  unblemished  reputation,  adored  by  his 
people  for  his  benevolence,  equity,  and  integrity.'  When 
Lord  Halifax  returned  to  London  to  take  the  seals,  he 
appointed  Sedgewicke  as  his  Under  Secretary,  passing 
over  Cumberland  on  the  ground  that  he  was  not  fit 
for  every  office,  and  could  not  speak  French.  '  I  had 
a  holding  on  Lord  Halifax,1  says  Richard,  '  founded  on 
a  long  and  faithful  attachment ;  but  as  I  had  hitherto 
kept  the  straight  and  fair  track  in  following  his  fortunes, 
I  would  not  consent  to  deviate  into  indirect  roads  and 
disgrace  myself  in  the  eyes  of  his  and  my  own  con- 
nections.' It  is  probable  that  Cumberland  had  found 
his  position  in  Lord  Halifax's  household  more  difficult 
since  Miss  Faulkener's  accession  to  power,  and  that, 
refusing  to  pay  his  court  to  the  lady,  he  lost  what  little 
influence  he  ever  possessed  with  his  patron. 

Finding  himself  cast  out  of  employment,  our  hero 
thought  it  worth  while  to  try  and  succeed  Sedgewicke 
in  his  situation  as  Clerk  of  Reports  at  the  Board  of 
Trade.  The  new  place,  worth  about  two  hundred  a 
year,  was  obtained ;  but  our  hero,  now  the  father  of 
three  young  children,  began  to  look  about  him  for  some 
other  means  of  increasing  his  income.  Bickerstaff 
having  lately  brought  out  his  Love  in  a  Village  with 
considerable  success,  Cumberland  determined  to  attempt 
a  little  piece  of  the  same  kind.  The  result  was  a 
pasticcio  called  The  Summer's  Tale,  a  tale  about  nothing, 
even  its  author  confesses,  and  very  indifferently  told. 
It  was  then  suggested  that  he  should  try  his  hand  at 
high  comedy  instead  of  wasting  his  talents  over  popular 
trifles.  Accordingly,  he  set  to  work  during  a  summer 
72 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

visit  to  his  parents  at  Clonfert,  and  produced  the  first 
of  a  long  series  of  comedies  called  The  Brothers. 

It  was  at  Clonfert  that  Cumberland  studied  the  Irish 
life  and  character  which  he  was  afterwards  to  turn  to 
good  account  upon  the  stage.  The  church  of  Clonfert, 
by  custom  called  a  cathedral,  and  the  episcopal  resi- 
dence, by  courtesy  called  a  palace,  stood  on  the  banks  of 
the  Shannon  in  a  nook  of  land  surrounded  on  three 
sides  by  an  impassable  bog.  The  peasants  were  but 
little  removed  from  savages,  and  their  mode  of  life 
and  methods  of  cultivating  the  land  were  of  the  most 
primitive  order.  The  bishop  undertook  to  improve 
matters  in  his  own  immediate  neighbourhood.  He  held 
a  large  portion  of  land  in  his  own  hands,  and  employed 
a  numerous  tribe  of  labourers.  His  first  object  was  to 
induce  the  people  to  adopt  the  same  methods  of  hus- 
bandry as  were  practised  in  England — a  difficult  matter, 
since  they  predicted  that  the  new-fangled  haystacks 
would  catch  fire,  and  the  corn  be  unfit  for  use.  Gradu- 
ally, however,  they  were  prevailed  upon  to  provide  their 
cabins  with  chimneys,  while  outside  each  door  was  to  be 
seen  a  stack  of  hay  made  in  English  fashion,  and  a  plot 
of  potatoes,  carefully  planted  and  kept  free  from  weeds. 
Then  the  bishop  turned  his  attention  to  their  persons, 
a  Sunday  dinner  being  offered  as  a  premium  to  all  who 
should  present  themselves  in  clean  linen  and  well-combed 
hair,  without  the  customary  addition  of  a  scarecrow  wig. 
The  old  barbarous  habit  of  working  with  a  greatcoat 
hung  loosely  over  the  shoulders  and  the  sleeves  dangling 
at  the  sides  was  now  discarded,  and  the  bishop's  labourers 
turned  into  the  fields  stripped  to  their  shirts,  and  proud 
to  show  themselves  in  whole  linen. 

In  October  Richard  Cumberland  and  his  family 

73 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

returned  to  town,  when  his  comedy  was  brought  out  with 
fair  success  at  Covent  Garden.  Horace  Walpole  says  in 
a  letter  to  George  Montagu,  dated  Dec.  14,  1769  :  '  Mr. 
Cumberland  has  produced  a  comedy  called  The  Brothers. 
It  acts  well,  but  reads  ill,  though  I  can  distinguish 
strokes  of  Mr.  Bentley  in  it.1  George  Montagu  says  in 
his  reply  :  '  I  am  glad  it  [the  comedy]  succeeds,  as  he  has 
a  tribe  of  children,  and  is  almost  as  extravagant  as  his 
uncle,  and  a  much  better  man.1  Garrick  was  among  the 
audience,  and  an  unexpected  compliment l  to  himself  in 
the  epilogue  led  him  to  cultivate  a  friendship  with  the 
author.  Cumberland  was  now  fairly  launched  on  his 
career  as  a  playwright,  a  career  which  he  pursued  till 
near  the  end  of  his  long  life.  In  his  old  age  he  declared 
that  he  had  never  written  a  line  to  puff  or  praise  him- 
self, or  to  decry  a  brother  dramatist.  *  I  have  stood  for 
the  corps  wherein  I  have  enrolled  myself,  and  never 
disguised  my  colours  by  abandoning  the  cause  of  the 
legitimate  comedy  to  whose  service  I  am  sworn,  and  in 
whose  defence  I  have  kept  the  field  during  nearly  half 
a  century,  till  at  last  I  have  survived  all  true  national 
taste,  and  lived  to  see  buffoonery,  spectacle,  and  puerility 
so  effectually  triumph,  that  now  to  be  repulsed  from  the 
stage  is  to  be  recommended  to  the  closet,  and  to  be 
applauded  by  the  theatre  is  little  else  than  a  passport 
to  the  puppet  show.1 

The  following  summer,  probably  that  of  1770, 
Cumberland  visited  Clonfert  again  ;  and  in  a  tiny  closet 
at  the  back  of  the  palace,  his  view  bounded  by  a  peat- 

1  '  Who  but  hath  seen  the  celebrated  strife 
Where  Reynolds  calls  the  canvas  into  life, 
And  'twixt  the  tragic  and  the  comic  Muse 
Courted  of  both,  and  dubious  where  to  choose, 
The  immortal  actor  stands.' 

74 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

stack,  began  to  plan  and  compose  his  most  successful 
comedy,  The  West  Indian.  His  idea  in  writing  this 
play,  he  tells  us,  was  to  introduce  characters  who  had 
usually  been  exhibited  on  the  stage  as  the  butts  for 
abuse  or  ridicule,  and  to  endeavour  to  present  them  in 
such  a  light  as  might  reconcile  the  world  to  them  and 
them  to  the  world.  *  I  thereupon  looked  into  society,1 
he  continues,  '  for  the  purpose  of  discovering  such  as 
were  the  victims  of  its  national,  professional,  or  religious 
prejudices;  and  out  of  these  I  determined  to  select  and 
form  heroes  for  my  future  dramas.'  The  characters  of 
a  West  Indian  and  an  Irishman  were  chosen  for  the 
play  on  which  he  was  then  at  work,  the  former  being 
described  as  extravagant  and  dissipated,  but  also  honour- 
able and  generous,  while  *  the  Irishman  I  put  into  the 
Austrian  service,  and  exhibited  him  in  the  livery  of  a 
foreign  master,  in  order  to  impress  on  the  audience  the 
melancholy  and  impolitic  alternative  to  which  his  re- 
ligious disqualifications  had  reduced  him — a  gallant  and 
loyal  subject  of  his  natural  king.  I  gave  him  courage, 
for  it  belongs  to  his  nation  ;  !•  endowed  him  with  honour, 
for  it  belongs  to  his  profession ;  and  I  made  him  proud, 
jealous,  and  susceptible,  for  such  the  exiled  veteran  will 
be  who  lives  by  the  earnings  of  his  sword,  and  is  not 
allowed  to  draw  it  in  the  service  of  that  country  which 
gave  him  birth,  and  which  he  was  bound  to  defend.' 
This  Major  CTFlaherty  was  the  father  of  a  large  family 
of  stage  Irishmen,  of  whom  Sir  Lucius  CKTrigger  is  the 
most  celebrated.  It  may  be  permissible  to  wonder 
whether  the  principal  character  was  intended  as  a  com- 
pliment to  the  West  Indian,  Samuel  Martin,  who  was 
Secretary  to  the  Treasury  when  Lord  Bute  was  First 
Lord.  When  Lord  Bute  resigned  in  1768,  Horace 

75 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

Walpole  says,  *  Young  Martin,  who  is  older  than  I  am, 
is  named  my  successor  [as  Usher  of  the  Exchequer] ;  but 
I  intend  he  shall  wait  some  years.1 

The  neighbourhood  of  Clonfert  seems  to  have  offered 
plenty  of  opportunity  for  the  study  of  national  character 
in  every  rank.  A  near  neighbour  was  Lord  Eyre  of 
Eyre  Court,  an  eccentric  gentleman  who  had  never  been 
out  of  Ireland,  nor  even  far  away  from  his  own  house. 
*  His  Lordship^  day,'  we  read,  *  was  so  apportioned  as 
to  give  the  afternoon  by  far  the  largest  share  of  it, 
during  which,  from  an  early  dinner  to  the  hour  of  rest, 
he  never  left  his  chair,  nor  did  the  claret  ever  quit  the 
table.  This  did  not  produce  inebriety,  for  it  was  sipping 
rather  than  drinking  that  filled  up  his  time,  and  this 
mechanical  process  of  gradually  moistening  the  human 
clay  was  carried  on  with  very  little  aid  from  conversation. 
He  lived  in  an  enviable  independence  as  to  reading ; 
indeed,  he  had  no  books.  Not  one  of  the  windows  of 
his  castle  was  made  to  open,  but  luckily  he  had  no 
liking  for  fresh  air,  and  the  consequences  may  be  better 
conceived  than  described.' 

Lord  Eyre,  who  had  a  great  passion  for  cock-fighting, 
and  whose  cocks  were  the  crack  of  all  Ireland,  engaged 
Cumberland  in  a  main.  '  I  was  a  perfect  novice  in  that 
elegant  sport,1  he  explains,  '  but  the  gentlemen  from  all 
parts  sent  me  in  their  contributions,  and  I  won  every 
battle  but  one.1  The  rival  parties  got  gloriously  drunk 
afterwards,  and  Cumberland  slipped  away,  having  first 
begged  a  young  officer  among  Lord  Eyre's  guests  to 
endeavour  to  keep  the  peace,  and  above  all  things  to 
avoid  the  introduction  of  party  politics.  The  officer 
so  far  forgot  his  undertaking,  when  in  his  cups,  as  to 
ask  the  company  to  drink  to  the  glorious  and  immortal 
76 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

memory  of  King  William.  This  was  a  mortal  affront 
to  one  section  of  the  party,  and  a  duel  in  the  early  dawn 
was  the  immediate  consequence.  Fortunately,  the  shots 
did  no  execution — probably  the  combatants1  hands  were 
shaky — and  the  affair  ended  without  bloodshed. 

Fairies  were  frequent  visitors  to  this  part  of  the 
country,  and  it  was  not  the  peasant  class  alone  that 
believed  in  them.  Richard,  riding  out  with  his  father 
one  day,  met  the  Roman  Catholic  priest  of  the  parish. 
The  Bishop  begged  his  colleague  to  caution  his  flock 
against  the  idle  superstition  of  the  fairies,  when  the 
good  man  confessed  that  he  was  himself  far  from  being 
a  sceptic  as  to  the  fact  of  their  existence.  Dr.  Cumber- 
land thereupon  turned  the  conversation  to  the  padre's 
steed,  which  was  in  sorry  condition.  Its  owner  explained 
that,  having  a  mighty  deal  of  work  and  very  little  pay, 
he  could  not  afford  to  feed  his  beast  as  well  as  he  would 
like.  '  Why,  then,  brother,1  said  the  Bishop,  '  'tis  fit 
that  I,  who  have  the  advantage  of  you  in  both  respects, 
should  mount  you  on  a  better  horse,  and  furnish  you 
with  provender  to  maintain  him.'  Orders  were  at  once 
given  for  a  stock  of  hay  to  be  made  ready  at  the  priest's 
cabin,  and  in  a  few  days  a  steady  horse  was  purchased 
and  presented  to  him.  No  wonder  that  the  good  Bishop 
was  popular  with  Catholics  and  Protestants  alike.  One 
of  his  labourers  trudged  the  whole  way  to  Dublin  to  ask 
his  lordship's  blessing,  while  another  threw  himself  out 
of  a  tree  for  joy  at  the  Bishop's  arrival,  and  was  laid  up 
with  a  bruised  hip  for  several  months. 

The  West  Indian  was  brought  out  by  Garrick  at 
Drury  Lane,  and  had  the  unusual  run  of  twenty-eight 
nights.  From  his  author's  nights  Cumberland  received 
very  large  profits ;  the  theatrical  manager  who  brought 

77 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

the  sums  to  his  house  in  a  huge  bag  of  gold,  declaring 
that  he  had  never  paid  any  author  so  much  at  one  time. 
Lord  Lyttelton  observed  that  the  comedy  would  have 
been  a  faultless  composition  if  one  of  the  characters  had 
not  listened  behind  a  screen.  *  I  consider  listening,"1  he 
said,  '  a  resource  never  to  be  allowed  in  any  pure  drama, 
nor  ought  any  good  author  to  make  use  of  it.1  Cumber- 
land urged  that  there  was  plenty  of  precedent  for  it ; 
and  alluding  to  this  point  in  his  Memoirs,  declares  that 
if  Aristotle  had  written  a  whole  chapter  professedly 
against  screens,  and  Jerry  Collier  had  edited  it  with 
notes  and  illustrations,he  personally  would  not  have  placed 
Lady  Teazle  out  of  earshot  to  have  saved  his  ears  from 
the  pillory.  This,  from  Cumberland,  is  a  rare  tribute  to 
a  brother  dramatist's  genius,  which  must  be  set  against  a 
good  deal  of  envy  and  uncharitableness. 

The  success  of  The  West  Indian  brought  the  author  a 
numerous  literary  acquaintance,  and  it  is  evident  that 
his  house  was  an  agreeable  one.  He  was  happy  in  his 
domestic  life ;  and  though  at  this  time  he  had  six 
children  under  six,  '  they  were,'  he  tells  us,  '  by  no 
means  trained  and  educated  with  that  laxity  of  discipline 
which  renders  so  many  houses  terrible  to  the  visitor,  and 
almost  justifies  Foote  in  his  professed  veneration  for  the 
character  of  Herod.  My  young  ones  stood  like  little 
soldiers  to  be  reviewed  by  those  who  wished  to  have 
them  drawn  up  for  inspection,  and  were  dismissed,  like 
soldiers,  at  a  word.1  *  Cumberland  explains  that  he  was 
careful  to  study  the  proper  assortment  of  his  guests,  two 
of  the  most  attractive  among  whom  were  Garrick  and 

1  Mrs.  Thrale  told  Fanny  Burney  that  Mr.  Cumberland  was  a  very 
amiable  man  in  his  own  house,  but  as  a  father  mighty  simple,  which 
accounted  for  the  ridiculous  conduct  and  manners  of  his  daughters. 

78 


Soame  Jenyns.  The  latter,  who  was  one  of  the  Com- 
missioners of  the  Board  of  Trade,  published  a  treatise 
on  the  Art  of  Dancing*,  an  Enquiry  into  the  Nature  and 
Origin  of  Evil,  and  other  forgotten  works.  His  prose 
style  was  commended  by  Burke,  and  regarded  by  his 
contemporaries  generally  as  a  model  of  ease  and  elegance. 
According  to  Cumberland,  Jenyns  was  an  exceptionally 
unattractive-looking  man,  with  eyes  that  protruded  like 
a  lobster's,  and  a  figure  of  the  exact  mould  of  an  ill- 
made  pair  of  stiff  stays ;  yet  he  innocently  remarked, 
when  Gibbon  published  his  History,  that  he  wondered 
anybody  so  ugly  could  write  a  book  ! 

'This  expert  in  dancing  and  metaphysics,'  writes 
Cumberland,  *  was  the  man  who  bore  his  part  in  all 
societies  with  the  most  even  temper  and  undisturbed 
hilarity  of  all  the  good  companions  whom  I  ever  knew. 
He  came  into  your  house  at  the  very  moment  you  had 
put  upon  your  card ;  and  he  dressed  himself  to  do  your 
party  honour  in  all  the  colours  of  the  jay.  .  .  .  His 
pleasantry  was  of  a  sort  peculiar  to  himself;  it  har- 
monised with  everything ;  it  was  like  the  bread  to  your 
dinner ;  you  did  not  perhaps  make  it  the  whole  or  the 
principal  part  of  your  meal,  but  it  was  an  admirable 
and  wholesome  auxiliary  to  your  other  viands.  Soame 
Jenyns  told  you  no  long  stories,  engrossed  not  much  of 
your  attention,  and  was  not  angry  with  those  that  did. 
He  wrote  verses  upon  dancing,  and  prose  upon  the 
origin  of  evil,  yet  he  was  a  very  indifferent  metaphysician, 
and  a  worse  dancer.  Ill-nature  and  personality,  with 
the  exception  of  the  lines  upon  Johnson,1  I  never  heard 
fall  from  his  lips.' 

1  The  epitaph,  of  which  the  two  best-known  lines  are  : — 
'  Boswell  and  Thrale,  retailers  of  his  wit, 
Will  tell  you  how  he  wrote  and  talked  and  coughed  and  spit.' 

79 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

Another  amusing  new  acquaintance  was  Foote,  of 
whom  the  following  characteristic  anecdote  is  told  : — 

'  I  went  with  Garrick  to  visit  Foote  at  Parson's 
Green.  Sir  Robert  Fletcher  made  the  fourth  at  dinner. 
After  about  two  hours,  Sir  Robert  rose  to  depart ;  there 
was  an  unlucky  screen  that  hid  the  door,  behind  which 
Sir  Robert  hid  himself ;  but  Foote,  supposing  him  gone, 
instantly  began  to  play  off  his  ridicule  at  the  expense  of 
the  departed  guest.  I  must  confess  it  was  a  way  he  had, 
and  just  now  a  very  unlucky  way  ;  for  Sir  Robert,  bolting 
from  behind  the  screen,  cried  out,  "  I  am  not  gone,  Foote  ; 
spare  me  till  I  am  out  of  hearing ;  and  now  with  your 
leave  I  will  stay  till  these  gentlemen  depart,  and  then 
you  shall  amuse  me  at  their  cost,  as  you  have  amused 
them  at  mine.""  A  remonstrance  of  this  sort  was  an 
electric  shock  that  could  not  be  parried.  This  event, 
however,  which  deprived  Foote  of  all  his  presence  of 
mind,  gave  occasion  to  Garrick  to  display  his  genius  and 
good-nature  in  their  brightest  lustre.  I  never  saw  him 
in  a  more  amiable  light ;  the  infinite  address  and 
ingenuity  which  he  exhibited  in  softening  the  enraged 
guest,  and  reconciling  him  to  pass  over  an  affront  as 
gross  as  could  be  well  put  upon  a  man,  were  at  once 
the  most  comic  and  the  most  complete  I  ever  witnessed. 
Why  was  not  James  Bos  well  present  to  have  recorded 
the  dialogue  and  action  of  the  scene  ? ' 

Cumberland  now  became  a  member  of  a  pleasant 
artistic  and  literary  coterie  that  used  to  dine  on  stated 
days  at  the  British  Coffee-house.  Among  the  members 
were  Goldsmith,  Reynolds,  Garrick,  *  Ossian  '  Macpherson, 
and  Dr.  Beattie.  Of  Goldsmith,  his  vanity,  his  whimsi- 
cality, his  good-heartedness  and  frivolity,  our  author 
gives  much  the  same  account  as  others  of  his  con- 
80 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

temporaries.  «  That  he  was  a  poet  there  is  no  doubt,' 
is  his  verdict.  '  But  the  paucity  of  his  verses  does  not 
allow  us  to  rank  him  in  that  high  station  where  his 
genius  might  have  carried  him.  There  must  be  bulk, 
Variety,  and  grandeur  of  design  to  constitute  a  first-rate 
poet.  The  Deserted  Village,  The  Traveller,  and  The 
Hermit  are  all  beautiful  specimens,  but  they  are  only 
birds'  eggs  on  a  string,  and  eggs  of  small  birds  too.  .  .  . 
Distress  drove  Goldsmith  upon  undertakings  neither 
congenial  with  his  studies  nor  worthy  of  his  talents.  I 
remember  him,  when  in  his  chambers  in  the  Temple 
he  showed  me  the  beginning  of  his  Animated  Nature, 
it  was  with  a  sigh,  such  as  genius  draws  when  hard 
necessity  diverts  it  from  its  bent  to  drudge  for  bread, 
and  talk  of  birds  and  beasts  and  creeping  things, 
which  Pidcock's  showman  would  have  done  as  well/ 
This  passage  throws  a  lurid  light  upon  the  estimation 
in  which  the  study  of  natural  history  was  held  in 
the  last  century,  and  reminds  the  reader  of  the  Rev. 
Edward  Topsell's  dedication  to  his  History  of  Four- 
footed  Beasts  and  Serpents,  in  which  he  apologises  as  a 
priest  for  devoting  his  talents  to  so  frivolous  a  subject 
as  zoology. 

Cumberland  knew  Johnson  well,  and  draws  an  unusu- 
ally pleasing  portrait  of  the  great  man.  He  doubts 
whether  Johnson  would  have  been  such  a  champion  of 
literature  had  he  not  been  driven  on  to  glory  with  the 
bayonet  of  sharp  necessity  pointed  at  his  back ;  but 
rather  inclines  to  believe  that  if  fortune  had  turned  him 
into  a  field  of  clover,  he  would  have  lain  down  and  rolled 
in  it.  *  I  respected  him  highly,"1  he  proceeds,  '  and  loved 
him  sincerely.  It  was  never  my  chance  to  see  him  in 
those  moments  of  moroseness  and  ill-humour  that  are 
F  81 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

imputed  to  him.1  ...  In  quickness  of  intellect  few 
ever  equalled  him,  in  profundity  of  erudition  many  may 
have  surpassed  him.  I  do  not  think  he  had  a  pure  and 
classical  taste,  nor  was  apt  to  be  pleased  with  the  best 
authors,  but  as  a  general  scholar  he  ranks  very  high. 
.  .  .  He  was  always  in  perfectly  good  trim,  and  with 
the  ladies  whom  he  generally  met  he  had  nothing  of 
the  slovenly  philosopher  about  him  ;  he  fed  heartily, 
but  not  voraciously,  and  was  extremely  courteous  in  his 
commendations  of  any  dish  that  pleased  his  palate.  .  .  . 
'  At  the  tea-table  he  made  considerable  demands  upon 
his  favourite  beverage  ;  and  I  remember  when  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  at  my  house  reminded  him  that  he  had  drunk 
eleven  cups,  he  replied ;  "  Sir,  I  did  not  count  your 
glasses  of  wine  ;  why  should  you  number  up  my  cups  of 
tea  ?  "  And  then  laughing  in  perfect  good-humour,  he 
added  :  "  Sir,  I  should  have  released  the  lady  from  any 
further  trouble  if  it  had  not  been  for  your  remark  ;  but 
you  have  reminded  me  that  I  want  one  of  the  dozen, 
and  I  must  request  Mrs.  Cumberland  to  round  up  my 
number.""  When  he  saw  the  readiness  and  complacency 
with  which  my  wife  obeyed  his  call,  he  turned  a  kind 
and  cheerful  look  on  her,  and  said :  "  Madam,  I  must 
tell  you  for  your  comfort  you  have  escaped  much  better 
than  a  certain  lady  did  a  while  ago,  upon  whose  patience 
I  intruded  greatly  more  than  I  have  done  on  yours  ; 
but  the  lady  asked  me  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
make  a  zany  of  me,  and  set  me  gabbling  to  a  parcel  of 
people  I  knew  nothing  of;  so,  Madam,  I  had  my  revenge 

1  '  Mr.  Cumberland  assures  me,'  says  Boswell,  '  that  he  was  always 
treated  with  great  courtesy  by  Dr.  Johnson,  who  in  his  Letters  to  Mrs. 
Thrale  thus  speaks  of  that  learned,  ingenious,  and  accomplished  gentle- 
man :  "The  want  of  company  is  an  inconvenience,  but  Mr.  Cumberland 
is  a  million." ' 

82 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

on  her,  for  I  swallowed  five-and-twenty  cups  of  her  tea, 
and  did  not  treat  her  with  as  many  words."  I  can  only 
say '  (adds  Cumberland)  '  that  my  wife  would  have  made 
tea  for  him  as  long  as  the  New  River  could  have  supplied 
her  with  water.1 

On  the  first  night  of  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  the 
whole  Society  dined  together,  and  went  afterwards  to 
the  theatre  in  order  to  lend  their  support  to  Goldsmith. 
According  to  our  author's  account,  Adam  Drummond, 
who  had  a  sonorous  and  contagious  laugh,  was  posted 
in  an  upper  box  ;  and  as  he  could  not  be  trusted  to  laugh 
in  the  right  place,  Cumberland  sat  at  his  elbow  to  give 
him  the  signal.  *  Having  begun  to  laugh  where  he 
found  no  joke,  he  began  to  fancy  that  he  found  a  joke 
in  almost  everything  that  was  said,  so  that  some  of  his 
bursts  were  malapropos.  These  were  dangerous  moments, 
for  the  pit  began  to  take  umbrage  ;  but  we  carried  our 
play  through,  and  triumphed  not  only  over  Colman''s 
(the  manager)  judgment,  but  our  own.1  The  story  reads 
circumstantially  enough,  but  doubt  has  since  been  thrown 
upon  its  accuracy.  According  to  the  papers  of  the  day, 
Cumberland,  instead  of  sitting  by  Drummond's  side,  and 
telling  him  when  to  laugh,  was  visibly  chagrined  by  the 
success  of  the  piece,  and  as  wretched  as  any  man  could  be. 

It  was  now  suggested  to  Cumberland  that  he  should 
do  for  Scotland  what  he  had  done  for  Ireland,  and  bring 
the  character  of  a  North  Briton  on  the  stage.  Accord- 
ingly, he  studied  the  language  and  idiosyncrasies  of  a 
Highland  servant  at  a  friend's  house,  and  presently  pro- 
duced The  Fashionable  Lover,  in  which  a  certain  Colin 
Macleod  plays  a  prominent  part.  The  play  was  less 
successful  than  The  West  Indian,  though  the  dramatist 
preferred  it  to  his  earlier  work.  *  I  should  be  inclined 

83 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

to  say,1  he  writes,  '  that  it  was  a  drama  of  a  moral, 
grave,  and  tender  cast,  inasmuch  as  I  discovered  in  it 
sentiments  laudably  directed  against  national  prejudice, 
breach  of  trust,  seduction,  and  the  general  dissipation 
of  the  time.1  This  description  does  not  sound  exactly 
promising  as  applied  to  a  comedy,  and  it  is  small 
wonder  that  some  of  the  critics  fell  foul  of  the  piece. 
The  author  was  foolish  enough  to  make  serious  appeals 
against  the  judgment  of  those  whom  he  admitted  to  be 
cavillers  and  slanderers  below  notice,  and  attacked  the 
critics  in  the  advertisement  to  the  published  edition  of 
his  work,  a  proceeding  which  induced  Garrick  to  nick- 
name him  '  The  Man  without  a  Skin.'  Probably  Cum- 
berland had  inherited  some  of  the  pugnacity  of  f  slashing 
Bentley ' ;  and  indeed  he  had  already  taken  up  the 
cudgels  against  a  pamphlet  by  Bishop  Lowth,  which, 
though  professedly  aimed  againt  Warburton,  contained 
an  onslaught  upon  Bentley.  Cumberland's  reply  in 
defence  of  his  grandfather  went  through  two  editions, 
and  was  left  unanswered  by  Lowth. 

The  death  of  Goldsmith  in  April  1774  was  followed 
by  the  publication  of  his  poem  Retaliation,  to  which  Cum- 
berland alludes  with  gratitude  for  the  lines  bestowed  on 
himself.  The  poem  owed  its  inception  to  a  literary  party 
at  the  St.  James's  Coffee-house,  where  it  was  suggested 
that  extempore  epitaphs  should  be  written  upon  the 
persons  present.  Garrick  and  Dr.  Bernard,  Dean  of 
Derry,  both  wrote  comic  epitaphs  upon  Goldsmith, 
which  Sir  Joshua  illustrated  with  a  caricature  of  the 
poet.  Observing  that  Goldsmith  appeared  a  little  sore, 
Cumberland  wrote  a  serious  and  complimentary  epitaph, 
which  was  the  more  pleasing  for  being  entirely  unex- 
pected. At  the  next  meeting  Goldsmith  produced  his 
84 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

own  epitaphs  as  they  stand  in  the  posthumously  printed 
Retaliation.  The  lines  relating  to  Cumberland  may  be 
quoted  here,  if  only  to  show  that  our  hero  was  sometimes 
grateful  for  small  mercies  : — 

*  Here  Cumberland  lies,  having  acted  his  parts, 
The  Terence  of  England,  the  mender  of  hearts  ; 
A  flattering  painter  who  made  it  his  care 
To  draw  men  as  they  ought  to  be,  not  as  they  are  ; 
His  gallants  are  faultless,  his  women  divine, 
And  comedy  wonders  at  being  so  fine  : 
Like  a  tragedy  queen  he  has  dizened  her  out, 
Or  rather  like  tragedy  giving  a  rout. 
His  fools  have  their  follies  so  lost  in  a  crowd 
Of  virtues  and  feelings  that  folly  grows  proud, 
And  coxcombs  alike  in  their  failings  alone, 
Adopting  his  portraits,  are  pleased  with  their  own  ; 
Say,  where  has  our  poet  this  malady  caught  ? 
Or  wherefore  his  characters  thus  without  fault  ? 
Say,  was  it  that  vainly  directing  his  view 
To  find  out  men's  virtues,  and  finding  them  few, 
Quite  sick  of  pursuing  each  troublesome  elf, 
He  grew  lazy  at  last,  and  drew  from  himself?' 

Of  Sheridan,  from  the  first  appearance  of  The  Rivals 
in  1775,  Cumberland  is  said  to  have  been  uncontrollably 
jealous.  The  story  goes  that  the  author  of  The  West 
Indian  was  present  at  the  first  night  of  The  School  for 
Scandal,  and  might  have  sat  for  the  portrait  of  Uncle 
Oliver  by  reason  of  his  *  villainous  disinheriting  counte- 
nance/ When  this  was  reported  to  Sheridan,  the  wit 
observed  that  this  behaviour  showed  ingratitude,  for 
that  when  he  went  to  see  Cumberland's  tragedy,  The 
Carmelite.,  he  laughed  from  beginning  to  end.  Sheridan 
revenged  himself  by  pillorying  Cumberland  in  the  char- 
acter, which  all  his  contemporaries  recognised,  of  Sir 

85 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

Fretful  Plagiary.1  It  will  be  remembered  that  Sneer 
says  of  Sir  Fretful,  before  the  entry  of  the  latter  :  '  He 's 
as  envious  as  an  old  maid  verging  on  the  desperation  of 
six-and-thirty ;  and  then  the  insidious  humility  with 
which  he  seduces  you  to  give  a  free  opinion  of  his  works 
can  only  be  exceeded  by  the  petulant  arrogance  with 
which  he  is  sure  to  reject  your  observations.  .  .  .  Then 
his  affected  contempt  of  all  the  newspaper  strictures, 
though  at  the  same  time  he  is  the  sorest  man  alive,  and 
shrinks  like  scorched  parchment  from  the  fiery  ordeal  of 
true  criticism  ;  yet  is  he  so  covetous  of  popularity  that 
he  had  rather  be  abused  than  not  mentioned  at  all.'  Sir 
Fretful  in  his  first  scene  is  made  to  exclaim  :  4  News- 
papers !  Sir,  they  are  the  most  villainous,  licentious, 

abominable,  infernal Not  that  I  ever  read  them.    No, 

I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  look  into  a  newspaper.  .  .  . 
Their  abuse  is,  in  fact,  the  best  panegyric.  I  like  it  of 
all  things.  An  author's  reputation  is  only  in  danger 
from  their  support.' 

Cumberland  seems  to  have  earned  Walpole's  lasting  dis- 
like by  his  inability  to  appreciate  Gray's  Letters,  although 
he  wrote  an  ode  in  praise  of  Gray's  Odes,  '  charitably 
no  doubt,'  says  Horace,  *  to  make  the  latter  taken  notice 
of.  Garrick  read  it  the  other  night  at  Mr.  Beauclerk's, 
who  comprehended  so  little  what  it  was  about  that  he 
desired  Garrick  to  read  it  backwards,  and  try  if  it  would 
not  be  equally  good  ;  he  did,  and  it  was.'  Three  months 
later,  in  March  1776,  Walpole  returns  to  the  same 

1  Fanny  Burney  thought  that  Cumberland  was  intensely  jealous  of 
her  fame,  and  observes  :  '  This  poor  man  is  so  wonderfully  narrow-minded 
in  his  authorship  capacity,  that  though  otherwise  good,  humane,  and 
generous,  he  changes  countenance  at  either  seeing  or  hearing  of  any  other 
writer.' 

86 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

subject  in  a  letter  to  Mason,  observing :  'Mr.  Cumber- 
land has  published  two  Odes,  in  which  he  has  been  so 
bountiful  as  to  secure  immortality  for  Gray,  for  Dr. 
James's  Powder,  and  indeed  for  his  own  Odes,  for  Father 
Time  would  fall  asleep  before  he  could  read  them 
through.  There  is  a  dedication  to  Romney  the  painter 
that  hisses  with  the  pertness  of  a  dull  man.' l 

Fresh  cause  of  offence  was  given  to  the  Lord  of 
Strawberry  Hill  by  a  note  to  the  Life  of' Dr.  Bentley  (in 
the  Biographm  Brittanica),  communicated  by  Cumber- 
land, who,  says  Horace,  '  giving  an  account,  too,  of  his 
uncle,  Mr.  Bentley's  writings,  because  the  latter  has  the 
honour  of  being  related  to  him,  says,  speaking  of  Philo- 
damus?  "  it  was  esteemed  by  the  late  eminent  poet, 
Mr.  Gray,  to  be  one  of  the  most  capital  poems  in  the 
English  language.  Accordingly,  Mr.  Gray  wrote  a 
laboured  and  elegant  commentary  upon  it,  which 
abounds  with  wit,  and  is  one  of  his  best  productions." 
I  say  nothing  of  the  excellent  application  of  the  word 
accordingly,  nor  of  the  false  English  in  the  last  which, 
which  should  refer  to  it,  and  not,  as  he  means  it  should, 
to  commentary,  nor  to  the  pedantic  and  Bentleian 
epithets  of  laboured  and  elegant,  terms  far  below  any- 
thing of  Gray's  writing,  and  only  worthy  of  prefaces 
written  by  witlings  who  are  jealous  of  and  yet  compli- 
ment one  another ;  but  laboured  I  dare  to  swear  it  was 
not,  and  for  the  wit  of  it,  though  probably  true, 

1  '  Sir  Joshua  mentioned  Mr.  Cumberland's  Odes,  which  were  just  pub- 
lished.   Johnson  :  "  Why,  sir,  they  would  have  been  thought  as  good  as 
Odes  commonly  are  if  Cumberland  had  not  put  his  name  to  them  ;  but  a 
name  immediately  draws  censure  unless  it  be  a  name  that  bears  down  all 
before  it."  ' — Boswell. 

2  A  poem  of  Richard  Bentley's. 

87 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

Cumberland,  of  all  men  living,  is  the  worst  judge,  who 
told  me  it  was  a  pity  Gray's  Letters  were  printed,  as  they 
disgraced  him.  I  should  be  glad  to  see  what  this 
jackadandy  calls  a  commentary,  and  which  I  suppose 
was  a  familiar  letter,  and  perhaps  a  short  one  ;  for 
Gray  could  express  in  ten  lines  what  the  fry  of  scholiasts 
would  make  twenty  times  as  long  as  the  text  !  .  .  .  Mr. 
Cumberland  has  written  a  laboured  and  elegant  drama, 
which  by  the  title  I  concluded  was  to  be  very  comical, 
and  more  likely  to  endanger  the  celebrity  of  Aristo- 
phanes than  of  any  living  wight.  It  is  called  The 
Widow  of  Delphi,  or  the  Descent  of  the  Deities,  and  I 
am  told  is  to  demolish  the  reputation  of  Caractacus. 
A  precis  of  the  subject  was  published  two  days  ago  in 
the  Public  Advertiser  for  the  benefit  of  the  illiterati, 
who  are  informed  that  poor  Shakespeare  was  mistaken 
in  calling  the  spot  of  the  scene  Delphos  instead  of 
Delphi.  I  hope  there  will  be  a  dance  of  Cyclops^'  (I 
don't  know  whether  commentators  will  allow  that 
termination),  hammering,  by  the  order  of  Venus,  armour 
to  keep  the  author  invulnerable,  who  has  hitherto  been 
terribly  bruised  in  all  his  combats  with  mortals.' 


PART  II 

THE  next  few  years  of  Cumberland's  life  may  be  passed 
over  rapidly,  since  they  contain  no  events  of  special 
importance.  His  father,  transferred  to  the  Bishopric  of 
Kilmore,  died  shortly  after  entering  upon  his  new  see, 
and  was  soon  followed  by  his  wife.  There  was  now  a  new 
88 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

chief  at  the  Board  of  Trade  in  the  person  of  Lord 
George  Germaine,  afterwards  Lord  Sackville,  the  hero, 
in  a  contrary  sense,  of  Minden.  Between  Lord  George 
and  Cumberland  grew  up  a  steady  friendship,  which  was 
only  broken  by  the  death  of  the  former  in  1785.  The 
duties  of  his  office  being  presumably  light,  Cumberland 
continued  his  dramatic  work,  the  Choleric  Man  being 
brought  out  with  success  by  Garrick,  though  the  malevo- 
lence of  the  public  prints  suffered  no  abatement,  which 
is  hardly  surprising,  since  the  playwright  lost  no  oppor- 
tunity of  retorting  upon  his  critics.  A  dedication  to 
Detraction  was  prefixed  to  the  printed  copies  of  this 
comedy;  and  Tom  Murphy  observed  that  if  the  reader 
wished  to  have  a  true  idea  of  the  Choleric  Man,  he 
would  find  it  in  the  dedication. 

After  Garrick  retired  from  the  stage,  Sheridan  brought 
out  Cumberland's  tragedy,  The  Battle  of  Hastings,  at 
Drury  Lane.  His  adaptation  of  Shakespeare's  Timon 
of  Athens  had  previously  been  produced  by  Garrick  and 
coldly  received.  Walpole,  however,  writing  to  Lady 
Ossory  in  December  1771,  says  :  '  There  is  a  new  Timon 
of  Athens,  altered  from  Shakespeare  by  Mr.  Cumberland, 
and  marvellously  well  done,  for  he  has  caught  the  manners 
and  diction  of  the  original  so  exactly  that  I  think  it  is 
full  as  bad  a  play  as  it  was  before  he  corrected  it.* 
Truly,  a  back-handed  kind  of  compliment ! 

The  Cumberland  children  were  now  growing  up ;  the 
four  boys  at  Westminster,  the  two  girls  about  to  be 
introduced  to  the  world.  It  was  their  father's  wish 
that  one  or  more  of  his  sons  should  enter  at  Trinity 
and  adopt  the  studious  life  that  he  himself  had  so  un- 
willingly renounced.  But  those  were  stirring  times ; 
the  War  of  Rebellion  had  broken  out  in  America,  and 

89 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

in  Europe  we  had  the  Spanish  quarrel  on  our  hands. 
The  Cumberland  boys  saw  no  charm  in  the  student's 
career  when  the  trumpets  were  calling  to  the  youth  of 
England  to  fight  their  country's  battles,  and  when  the 
sound  of  shot  and  shell  was  ever  in  their  ears.  Two 
of  them  went  into  the  army  and  two  into  the  navy ; 
the  second  son,  George,  being  killed  at  the  siege  of 
Charleston. 

The  year  1780  was  an  eventful  and,  as  it  proved,  a 
disastrous  year  for  the  Cumberland  family.  Our  hero 
had  discovered,  through  a  secret  channel,  certain  things 
passing  between  the  agents  of  France  and  Spain,  which 
led  him  to  believe  that  the  Family  Compact  might  be 
broken,  and  that  negotiations  might  be  opened  through 
the  Spanish  Minister,  Florida  Blanca,  with  a  view  to 
arranging  a  peace  between  Spain  and  England.  So  per- 
suaded was  he  of  the  feasibility  of  the  scheme,  that  he 
made  application  to  the  Government  for  permission  to 
attempt  this  delicate  and  dangerous  task. 

In  the  result  he  was  allowed  to  repair  to  the  port  of 
Lisbon,  where  he  was  bidden  to  remain  till  the  Abbe 
Hussey,  the  Irish  chaplain  of  his  Catholic  Majesty,  pro- 
ceeded to  Aranjuez  to  reconnoitre.  According  to  the 
report  that  he  received  from  Hussey,  Cumberland  was  to 
be  governed  in  the  alternative  of  going  into  Spain  to 
carry  out  his  mission,  or  returning  to  England  by  the 
ship  that  had  brought  him  out.  He  was  to  take  with 
him  his  wife  and  daughters,  in  order  to  give  colour  to 
the  pretence  of  travelling  into  Italy  in  search  of  health 
on  a  passport  through  the  Spanish  dominions.  It  will 
readily  be  understood  that  this  mission  meant  fame 
and  fortune  if  it  succeeded,  but  something  not  far 
short  of  disgrace  if  it  failed,  even  though  the  failure 
90 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

should  not  be  the  fault  of  the  unaccredited  ambassador 
of  peace. 

The  party  started  from  Portsmouth  in  the  frigate 
Milford  on  22nd  April  1780,  but  were  detained  in  the 
Channel  by  unfavourable  winds  until  the  2nd  of  May. 
When  at  last  they  got  clear  away,  the  sea  ran  mountains 
high,  and  broke  over  the  low  and  leaky  frigate,  till  one 
at  least  of  the  passengers  thought  that  the  ship  could 
not  possibly  live  out  such  a  gale.  When  the  wind 
abated,  a  new  danger  appeared  in  the  shape  of  a  French 
frigate,  which  was  attacked  by  the  Milford^  and  after  a 
bloody  fight  surrendered  to  the  English  ship.  In  these 
days  it  seems  strange  to  read  of  a  naval  fight  taking 
place  with  ladies  on  board  one  of  the  combatant  vessels  ; 
but  Cumberland  writes  as  though  the  incident  were  a 
mere  matter  of  course,  and  rather  apologises  for  describ- 
ing the  affair,  which,  he  says,  would  seem  but  trifling  to 
a  naval  reader.  Yet,  in  the  course  of  the  action  the 
French  ship  lost  her  captain,  second  captain,  and  fifty 
men  killed  or  wounded,  while  the  Milford  had  three  men 
killed  and  four  wounded.  That  the  '  handy  man '  was 
made  of  the  same  stuff  in  those  days  as  in  these  may  be 
gathered  from  Cumberland's  account  of  the  battle. 

*  When  I  witnessed  the  despatch  with  which  a  ship  is 
cleared  for  action,1  he  says,  '  the  silence  and  good  order 
so  strictly  observed,  and  the  commands  so  distinctly 
given,  I  was  impressed  with  the  greatest  respect  for  the 
discipline  and  precision  observed  on  our  ships  of  war.' 
One  of  the  marines  had  his  arm  shattered,  but  refused 
to  leave  the  quarter-deck  till  the  action  was  over ;  when 
going  down  to  have  his  wound  dressed  he  met  Miss 
Cumberland  coming  up,  and  gallantly  presented  the 
injured  arm  to  assist  her.  She,  noticing  that  he  flinched 

91 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

upon  her  touching  it,  said,  *  Sergeant,  I  am  afraid  you 
are  wounded ' ;  to  which  he  replied,  '  To  be  sure  I  am, 
madam,  else  I  should  not  have  been  so  bold  as  to  have 
crossed  you  on  the  stairs.1  The  shifting  of  the  prisoners 
was  a  task  of  danger,  as  they  were  very  drunk,  but  at  last 
the  Milford  was  able  to  proceed  on  her  voyage  in  company 
with  her  prize.  Cumberland  tells  us  that  he  wrote  a  sea- 
song  descriptive  of  the  fight ;  but  although  there  were 
some  good  singers  among  the  crew,  their  delicacy  would 
not  allow  the  song  to  be  heard  until  their  prisoners  were 
removed,  after  which  they  sang  it  every  night. 

After  being  chased  by  a  French  battle-ship,  which 
she  managed  to  outsail,  the  Milford  arrived  safely  in  the 
mouth  of  the  Tagus,  and  for  the  next  few  weeks  the 
travellers  stayed  at  Lisbon  while  the  Abbe  Hussey 
proceeded  to  Aranjuez  to  see  whether  the  stars  were 
propitious  for  the  prosecution  of  a  peace  mission.  Cum- 
berland's latest  instructions  were  to  return  to  England 
or  to  advance  into  Spain  according  as  that  country 
should,  or  should  not,  make  the  cession  of  Gibraltar 
the  basis  of  a  negotiation.  The  Abbe  had  special 
orders  to  be  explicit  on  this  point ;  but  in  the  course 
of  time  a  letter  arrived  from  him  which  gave  no  precise 
information,  though  on  the  whole  he  encouraged  his 
colleague  to  proceed.  Cumberland  now  found  himself 
in  a  dilemma.  He  had  no  time  to  communicate  with 
his  own  Government,  and  probably  his  wisest  course 
would  have  been  to  return  home  at  once.  But  his 
ambition  was  too  strong  for  his  prudence,  and  he  decided 
to  go  on  with  his  mission,  though  he  knew  that  if  it  was 
unsuccessful  he  alone  would  be  blamed. 

Having  got  across  the  frontier  with  considerable  diffi- 
culty, the  party  found  a  coach  and  six  mules  awaiting 
92 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

them  at  Badajos,  and  on  June  18  arrived  at  Aranjuez. 
Here  the  envoy  was  met  with  an  account  of  the  Gordon 
riots  in  London,  which  news  all  but  extinguished  his 
prospects  of  success  at  the  outset.  Apart  from  this,  all 
had  promised  well.  Spain  was  on  delicate  terms  with 
France,  she  had  recently  received  a  check  from  Rodney, 
and  Gibraltar  had  been  relieved.  But  the  recent  insur- 
rections in  Madrid  lent  undue  importance  to  the  riots 
in  London,  Florida  Blanca  professing  to  believe  that  the 
downfall  of  the  British  capital  was  imminent,  and  that  the 
American  rebellion  was  spreading  to  England.  Cumber- 
land, knowing  nothing  of  the  true  state  of  affairs,  could 
only  express  his  conviction  that  the  tumult  would  be 
promptly  quashed,  and  in  a  few  days  learned  that  his 
prophecy  had  been  fulfilled.  He  now  tried  by  every 
means  in  his  power  to  bring  back  the  negotiation  to  the 
stage  it  had  reached  before  the  report  of  the  riots  had 
arrived  at  Madrid ;  but  during  a  stay  of  nearly  a  year  no 
moment  occurred  so  favourable  to  the  business  as  that 
of  which  ill-fortune  had  deprived  him  at  the  outset. 

Towards  the  end  of  June  the  family  removed  to 
Madrid ;  and  while  Cumberland  awaited  the  answer  of 
Government  to  his  first  despatch,  the  capture  of  our 
great  East  and  West  Indian  convoys  by  the  Spanish 
fleet,  together  with  other  influences  that  were  brought 
to  bear  upon  Spain,  changed  the  general  outlook  for  the 
worse.  When  the  despatch  arrived,  it  proved  unsatis- 
factory. Cumberland  was  expressly  forbidden  to  enter 
upon  any  negotiations  in  which  even  the  name  of  Gib- 
raltar was  mentioned,  while  there  was  an  implied  reproof 
for  his  conduct  of  the  business  as  far  as  it  had  gone. 
Meanwhile,  the  Court  had  removed  to  San  Ildefonso, 
and  thither  Cumberland  followed  to  attend  upon  the 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

Minister,  from  whom,  however,  he  could  only  obtain 
evasive  replies;  while  Gibraltar,  like  King  Charles's  head 
in  Mr.  Dick's  narrative,  forced  its  way  into  every  draft 
treaty.  The  Abbe  Hussey  was  sent  home  as  the  bearer 
of  fresh  propositions,  and  our  hero,  unwilling  to  give 
up  his  mission,  returned  to  Madrid  to  await  events. 

Apart  from  political  vexations  and  the  surveillance  of 
spies,  the  stay  in  Spain  was  pleasant  enough.  Whatever 
might  be  the  attitude  of  the  Minister,  the  Cumberlands 
were  graciously  entertained  by  the  Royal  Family,  who 
invited  them  to  the  Escurial,  showed  them  the  art  trea- 
sures of  the  palace,  and  ordered  engravings  to  be  made 
of  any  pictures  that  they  might  specially  admire.  The 
King  sent  a  couple  of  his  finest  horses  as  a  present  to 
his  avowed  enemy  George  in.,  and  offered  to  supply 
blocks  of  the  finest  marble  for  the  building  or  orna- 
menting of  any  of  the  royal  palaces  in  England.  Walk- 
ing one  day  through  the  Escurial,  Cumberland  surprised 
the  King  in  his  bedroom.  His  Majesty  was  very  poorly 
lodged,  in  a  room  furnished  with  a  small  camp  bedstead 
and  faded  curtains,  but  by  his  bedside  hung  the  Mater 
Dolorosa  of  Titian,  which  he  carried  about  with  him  as 
his  private  altar-piece.  He  showed  his  visitor  some 
small  American  deer  which  he  kept  under  a  netting, 
and  a  little  green  monkey,  undesirable  room-fellows,  one 
would  think,  either  for  kings  or  commoners. 

Among  the  chief  friends  of  the  family  at  Madrid  was 
Count  Kaunitz,  the  Imperial  Ambassador,1  who  fell 
desperately  in  love  with  the  elder  Miss  Cumberland,  and, 
being  rejected  by  her,  died  shortly  after  her  departure 
for  England.  Another  lover  was  the  Empress-Queen's 

1  Son  of  the  famous  Austrian  Minister,  who  was  called  '  Le  Cocher  de 
Europe.' 

91 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

gallant  General  Pallavicini,  who  tried  to  win  the  hand 
first  of  the  elder  and  then  of  the  younger  daughter,  but 
with  no  success.  The  Miss  Cumberlands  seem  to  have 
made  a  sensation  in  Spain  by  riding  in  the  English 
fashion,  and  we  are  told  that  the  princesses  asked  leave 
to  take  the  pattern  of  their  habits.1 

The  theatre,  though  small  and  dark,  was  celebrated  at 
that  time  for  its  wonderful  gypsy  actress,  La  Tiranna.  This 
woman,  having  heard  of  the  high  expectations  that  the 
English  playwright  had  formed  of  her  genius,  sent  to  desire 
that  he  would  not  come  to  the  theatre  till  she  let  him 
know,  as  she  wished  him  to  see  her  at  her  best.  He  was 
at  length  permitted  to  witness  her  performance  of  a 
tragedy,  in  the  course  of  which  she  murdered  her  infant 
children,  and  exhibited  them  dead  on  the  stage ;  while 
she,  sitting  on  the  bare  floor  between  them,  presented 
such  a  high- wrought  picture  of  hysteric  frenzy,  *  laugh- 
ing wild  amidst  severest  woe,1  as  placed  her,  in  his 
judgment,  at  the  very  summit  of  her  art.  *  In  fact,1 
he  continues,  '  I  have  no  conception  that  the  powers  of 
acting  can  be  carried  higher ;  and  such  was  the  effect 
upon  the  audience  that,  while  the  spectators  in  the  pit 
having  caught  a  kind  of  sympathetic  frenzy  from  the 
scene,  were  rising  up  in  a  tumultuous  manner,  the  word 
was  given  out  by  authority  for  letting  the  curtain  fall, 
and  a  catastrophe,  probably  too  strong  for  exhibition, 
was  not  allowed  to  be  completed.' 

The  expenses  of  this   actress  were  defrayed   by  the 

1  Writing  from  Brighton  in  1779,  Fanny  Burney  says  that  the  Miss 
Cumberlands  'are  reckoned  the  flashers  of  the  place,  yet  everybody 
laughs  at  them  for  their  airs,  affectations,  tonish  graces,  and  impertinences. ' 
They  are  reported  (by  Mrs.  Thrale)  to  have  been  hissed  out  of  a  playhouse 
on  account  of  the  extreme  height  of  their  feathers. 

95 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

Duke  of  Osuna,  Commander  of  the  Spanish  Guards, 
who  found  it  indispensable  for  his  honour  to  have  the 
finest  woman  in  Spain  on  his  pension  list,  but  thought 
it  unnecessary  to  be  acquainted  with  her,  and  at  this 
time  had  never  even  seen  her.  He  had  once  accepted 
an  invitation  to  take  a  cup  of  chocolate  at  her  house, 
but  fell  asleep  on  the  way ;  and  not  waking  when  his 
carriage  stopped  at  her  door,  was  driven  home  again, 
having  slept  away  his  curiosity  to  see  the  lady  who  was 
nominally  under  his  protection. 

The  peace  negotiations  still  hung  fire,  intrigues  were 
going  on  between  Spain  and  Russia,  and  at  last  Cum- 
berland became  convinced  that  his  mission  was  hopeless.1 
He  received  his  recall  in  February  1781.  Before  his 
departure  Florida  Blanca  informed  him  that  the  King 
of  Spain  had  been  so  entirely  satisfied  with  his  conduct, 
that,  apprehending  he  would  find  himself  forsaken  by 
his  employers,  he  offered  him  full  compensation  for  his 
expenses.  Cumberland  refused  the  offer,  having  come 
into  Spain,  as  he  said,  relying  solely  upon  the  goodwill 
of  his  own  Government,  pledged  to  him  through  the 
Secretary  of  State.  He  had  received  a  promise  that  all 
bills  drawn  by  him  upon  his  banker  in  London  would 
be  instantly  replaced  to  nis  credit  as  long  as  they  were 
accompanied  by  a  letter  of  advice  to  the  Secretary. 
Secure  in  this  promise,  Cumberland  set  out  on  the  return 
journey  on  March  24  with  his  family,  increased  by  the 

1  Horace  Walpole  has  a  sneer  at  '  Mr.  Cumberland's  sticcessful  negotia- 
tions in  Spain,  where  he  stayed  begging  peace  till  Gibraltar  was  battered 
to  the  ground.  I  hope  he  will  write  an  Ode  himself  on  that  treaty  he 
did  not  make  ;  and,  like  Pindar,  fill  it  with  the  genealogy  of  the  mule  on 
which  he  ambled  from  the  Prado  to  the  Escurial,  and  when  I  am  a  mule 
I  will  read  it.' — From  the  letter  to  Mason,  dated  June  14,  1781. 

96 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

birth  of  an  infant  daughter,  in  two  Spanish  coaches, 
each  drawn  by  six  mules,  with  outriders.  In  this 
fashion  they  were  to  travel  as  far  as  Bayonne,  a  journey 
that  took  them  seventeen  days  to  perform,  and  was  not 
accomplished  without  adventures. 

At  Burgos,  Cumberland  found  a  '  parcel '  of  British 
seamen,  prisoners  of  war,  whom  the  Bishop  of  Burgos 
in  his  zeal  for  making  converts  had  taken  into  his  list  of 
pensioners  as  true  proselytes.  The  sailors  begged  their 
countryman  to  let  them  make  their  way  out  of  Spain 
under  his  protection ;  and  the  bishop,  who  was  heartily 
sick  of  his  converts,  gladly  gave  his  consent  to  their 
departure,  on  the  understanding  that  a  like  number  of 
Spanish  prisoners  should  be  liberated.  At  the  next 
stopping -place  Cumberland  offered  his  snuff-box  to  a 
grave,  elderly  man  who  had  sat  down  beside  him.  The 
stranger,  looking  steadily  in  his  face,  took  a  small 
portion  of  the  snuff,  and  said,  '  I  am  not  afraid,  sir,  of 
trusting  myself  to  you  whom  I  know  to  be  an  English- 
man, and  a  person  in  whose  honour  I  may  perfectly 
repose.  But  there  is  death  concealed  in  many  a  man's 
snuff-box,  and  I  would  seriously  advise  you  on  no 
account  to  take  a  pinch  from  the  box  of  any  stranger 
who  may  offer  it  to  you ;  and  if  you  have  done  that 
already,  I  sincerely  hope  that  no  such  consequences  as  I 
allude  to  will  result  from  your  want  of  caution.1  The 
poisoned  snuff,  he  further  explained,  always  operated  on 
the  brain. 

This  conversation  returned  to  Cumberland's  mind 
when,  on  reaching  Bayonne,  he  was  seized  with  ex- 
cruciating pains  in  the  head,  and  for  three  wretched 
weeks  was  confined  to  his  bed  in  continual  delirium. 
To  add  to  his  troubles,  it  was  found  that,  as  none  of  the 
G  97 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

bills  drawn  upon  his  bankers  had  been  honoured  by  the 
Treasury,  his  credit  was  completely  exhausted,  and  he 
was  liable  to  arrest  for  debt  at  this  stage  of  his  journey. 
Fortunately,  he  was  able  to  tide  over  this  difficulty  by 
borrowing  five  hundred  pounds  of  Marchetti,  his  friend 
and  fellow-traveller.  As  soon  as  the  invalid  was  suf- 
ficiently recovered,  the  journey  was  resumed  with  post- 
horses  to  Paris,  and  thence  via  Ostend  and  Margate  to 
London.  On  arriving  at  home,  Cumberland  discovered 
that  from  the  day  that  he  left  England  to  the  day  of 
his  return,  a  period  of  fourteen  months,  not  a  single 
shilling  had  been  replaced  to  his  banking  account  by  the 
Treasury,  though  he  had  attached  his  letter  of  advice  to 
every  draft  that  he  had  made.  Except  for  a  thousand 
pounds  advanced  to  him  on  setting  out,  his  private 
fortune  had  supplied  the  whole  of  the  expenses,  which 
amounted  to  between  four  and  five  thousand  pounds. 

A  long  memorial  to  Lord  North,  setting  forth  his 
claims  in  detail,  received  no  reply ;  but  Cumberland  was 
convinced  that  his  lordship  had  never  read  it,  or  he 
could  hardly  have  disregarded  such  just  demands.  The 
end  of  the  matter  was  that  no  compensation  was  ever 
received,  and  the  unfortunate  envoy  had  sacrificed 
fortune,  and  in  some  sort  reputation,  for  nothing.  To 
quote  his  own  words  :  '  I  wearied  the  door  of  Lord 
North  till  his  very  servants  drove  me  from  it.  I  with- 
stood the  offer  of  a  benevolent  monarch  [the  King  of 
Spain],  whose  munificence  would  have  rescued  me,  and  I 
embraced  ruin  in  my  own  country  to  preserve  my 
honour  as  a  subject  of  it ;  selling  every  acre  of  my  own 
hereditary  estate,  jointured  on  my  wife,  who  generously 
concurred  in  the  sacrifice  which  my  improvident  reliance 
upon  the  faith  of  Government  compelled  me  to  make.1 
98 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

When  Lord  North's  Ministry  was  overturned  in 
1782,  the  Board  of  Trade  was  abolished,  and  Cumber- 
land, then  Secretary,  was  set  adrift  upon  a  compensation 
which  represented  less  than  half  his  former  salary. 
At  the  same  time  his  friend  and  chief,  Lord  George 
Germaine,  was  called  to  the  Upper  House  under  the 
title  of  Viscount  Sackville.  The  ex-secretary  now  re- 
tired with  his  family  to  Tunbridge  Wells,  where  he 
spent  the  next  twenty  years  of  his  life,  devoting  him- 
self with  a  fatal  industry  to  the  ceaseless  production 
of  plays,  novels,  essays,  and  poems.  Tunbridge  he 
regarded  as  an  ideal  place  of  residence,  observing  that 
*  it  is  not  altogether  a  public  place,  yet  it  is  at  no 
period  of  the  year  a  solitude.  A  reading  man  may 
command  his  hours  of  study,  and  a  social  man  will  find 
full  satisfaction  for  his  philanthropy.  Its  vicinity  to 
the  capital  brings  quick  intelligence  of  all  that  passes 
there :  the  morning  papers  reach  us  before  the  hour 
of  dinner,  and  the  evening  ones  before  breakfast  next 
day.1  For  the  men  of  Kent  he  conceived  a  great  ad- 
miration ;  and  in  his  novel  Arundel  described  them  as 
being  *  distinguishable  above  their  fellows  for  the  beauty 
of  their  persons,  the  dignity  of  their  sentiments,  the 
courage  of  their  hearts,  and  the  elegance  of  their 
manners.1 

In  his  new  leisure  Cumberland  cultivated  his  garden 
with  lover-like  devotion,  finding  a  little  friendly  spot  in 
which  his  laurels  flourished,  *  the  only  one  yet  dis- 
covered 1 ;  and  collected  materials  for  the  essays  which 
he  afterwards  published  under  the  title  of  The  Observer. 
He  had  already  brought  out  his  Anecdotes  of  Eminent 
Painters  in  Spain,  of  which  work  the  implacable  Wai- 
pole  observes,  in  a  letter  to  Mason,  dated  April  13, 

99 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

1782  :  '  Cumberland's  book  is  called  Anecdotes  of  Spanish 
Painters.  To  show  he  has  been  in  Spain  (of  which  he 
boasts,  though  with  little  reason)  he  spells  every  name 
(that  is  not  Spanish)  as  they  do ;  the  Fleming  Rubens 
he  calls  (to  Englishmen)  Pedro  Pablo  Rubens,  and 
Vitruvius  Viturbis.  Two  pages  are  singularly  delect- 
able ;  one  of  them  was  luckily  criticised  this  morning  in 
the  Public  Advertiser,  and  saves  me  the  trouble  of 
transcribing;  the  other  is  a  chef  tfceuvre  of  proud 
puppyism.  Speaking  of  the  subjection  of  Spain  to  the 
Carthaginians,  he  says :  "  When  Carthage  was  her  mis- 
tress it  is  not  easy  to  conceive  a  situation  more  degrad- 
ing for  a  noble  people  than  to  bear  the  yoke  of 
mercantile  republicans,  and  do  homage  at  the  shop- 
boards  of  upstart  demagogues."  Would  not  one  think 
it  was  a  Vere  or  a  Percy  who  wrote  this  impertinent 
condolence,  and  not  a  little  commit  ?  He  goes  on : 
"  Surely  it  is  in  human  nature  to  prefer  the  tyranny  of 
the  most  absolute  despot  that  ever  wore  a  crown  to  the 
mercenary  and  imposing  insults  of  a  trader.  Who 
would  not  rather  appeal  to  a  court  than  a  counting- 
house  ?  "  A  most  worthy  ejaculation.  This  in  a  free 
country,  from  a  petty  scribe  in  office  ! "" 

From  his  retirement  in  the  country  Cumberland  still 
kept  in  touch  with  his  friends  of  the  literary  and 
artistic  world.  He  attended  Garrick's  funeral  in  1779, 
where  he  saw  *  old  Samuel  Johnson  standing  beside  the 
grave,  at  the  foot  of  Shakespeare's  monument,  bathed 
in  tears.1  Romney,  whom  our  author  was  one  of  the 
first  to  encourage,  is  described  as  being  in  art  the  rival 
but  in  nature  the  very  contrast  of  Reynolds.  Shy, 
studious,  contemplative  and  hypochondriacal,  with  aspen 
nerves  that  every  breath  could  ruffle,  he  was  a  man  of 
100 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

few  wants  and  strict  economy,  with  no  dislike  to  money. 
'  He  had  opportunities  enough  to  enrich  him  even  to 
satiety ;  but  he  was  at  once  so  eager  to  begin,  and  so 
slow  in  finishing  his  portraits,  that  he  was  for  ever  dis- 
appointed of  receiving  payment  for  them  by  casualties 
and  revolutions  in  the  families  they  were  designed  for. 
So  many  of  his  sitters  were  killed  off,  so  many  favourite 
ladies  dismissed,  so  many  fond  wives  divorced,  before  he 
would  bestow  half  an  hour's  pains  upon  their  petticoats, 
that  his  unsaleable  stock  was  immense ;  whilst  with  a 
little  more  regularity  and  decision  he  would  have  more 
than  doubled  his  fortune.1 

Cumberland  gives  an  amusing  account  of  his  taking 
Garrick  to  Romney's  studio  in  the  early  and  struggling 
days  of  the  painter's  career.  '  When  I  first  knew 
Romney,'  he  writes,  '  he  was  poorly  lodged  in  Newport 
Street,  and  painted  at  the  small  price  of  eight  guineas 
for  a  three-quarters  portrait.  I  sat  to  him,  and  was 
the  first  who  encouraged  him  to  advance  his  terms  by 
paying  him  ten  guineas  for  his  performance.  I  brought 
Garrick  to  see  his  pictures,  hoping  to  interest  him  in 
his  favour.  A  large  family  piece  unluckily  arrested 
his  attention  ;  a  gentleman  in  a  close  buckled  bob-wig 
and  a  scarlet  waistcoat  laced  with  gold,  together  with 
his  wife  and  children,  had  taken  possession  of  some 
yards  of  canvas,  very  much  as  it  appeared  to  their  own 
satisfaction,  for  they  were  perfectly  amused  in  a  con- 
tented abstinence  from  all  thought  or  action.  When 
Garrick  had  fixed  his  lynx  eye  upon  this  unfortunate 
group,  he  began  to  put  himself  in  the  attitude  of  the 
gentleman ;  and  turning  to  Mr.  Romney,  "  Upon  my 
word,  sir,"  said  he,  "  this  is  a  very  regular,  well-ordered 
family,  and  that  is  a  very  bright,  well-rubbed  mahogany 

101 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

table  at  which  that  motherly  good  lady  is  sitting,  and 
this  worthy  gentleman  in  the  scarlet  waistcoat  is  doubt- 
less a  very  excellent  subject  of  the  State  (if  all  these  are 
his  children),  but  not  for  your  art,  Mr.  Romney,  if  you 
mean  to  pursue  it  with  that  success  which  I  hope  will 
attend  you."  The  modest  artist  took  the  hint  in  good 
part,  and  turned  his  family  with  their  faces  to  the  wall. 
When  Romney  produced  my  portrait,  "  It  was  very  well," 
Garrick  observed.  "  That  is  very  like  my  friend,  and 
that  blue  coat  with  a  red  cape  is  very  like  the  one  he 
has  on,  but  you  must  give  him  something  to  do ;  put 
a  pen  in  his  hand,  a  paper  on  his  table,  and  make  him 
a  poet ;  if  you  can  set  him  well  down  to  his  writing, 
who  knows  but  in  time  he  may  write  something  in  your 
praise  ?  " 

Cumberland  pays  a  graceful  tribute  to  the  hospitable 
bookseller,  Mr.  Dilly,  whose  table,  as  he  says,  was  ever 
open  to  the  patrons  and  pursuers  of  literature.  '  Under 
this  roof  the  biographer  of  Johnson  and  the  pleasant 
tourist  to  Corsica  and  the  Hebrides  passed  many  jovial 
hours ;  here  he  has  located  some  of  the  liveliest  scenes 
and  most  brilliant  passages  in  his  entertaining  anecdotes 
of  his  friend  Samuel  Johnson,  who  yet  lives  and  speaks 
in  them.  The  book  of  Boswell  is  ever,  as  the  year 
comes  round,  my  winter  evening's  entertainment.  I 
loved  the  man ;  he  had  great  convivial  powers,  and  an 
inexhaustible  fund  of  good-humour  in  society.  Nobody 
could  detail  the  spirit  of  a  conversation  in  the  true 
style  and  character  of  the  parties  more  happily  than 
my  friend,  James  Boswell,  especially  when  his  vivacity 
was  excited  and  his  heart  exhilarated  by  the  circula- 
tion of  the  glass  and  the  grateful  odour  of  a  well-broiled 
lobster.' 

102 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

To  these  parties  of  Dilly's,  Cumberland  owed  many 
agreeable  acquaintances  among  the  younger  litterateurs 
of  his  period,  the  mention  of  one  of  whom  seems  to 
bring  us  down  with  a  jerk  to  quite  recent  times.  '  I 
can  visit,'  he  writes,  '  the  justly  admired  author  of 
The  Pleasures  of  Memory,  and  find  myself  with  a  friend 
who,  together  with  the  brightest  genius,  possesses  ele- 
gance of  manners  and  excellence  of  heart.  He  tells  me 
he  can  remember  the  day  of  our  first  meeting  at  Mr. 
Dilly's;  I  also  remember  it.  And  though  his  modest, 
unassuming  nature  held  back,  and  shrank  from  all 
appearance  of  ostentation  and  display  of  talents,  yet 
even  then  I  take  credit  for  discovering  a  promise  of 
good  things  to  come,  and  suspected  him  of  holding 
secret  commerce  with  the  Muse  before  the  proof  ap- 
peared in  the  shape  of  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
harmonious  poems  in  our  language.  I  do  not  say  he 
has  not  ornamented  the  age  he  lives  in,  though  he  were 
to  stop  where  he  is,  but  I  hope  he  will  not  so  totally 
deliver  himself  over  to  the  arts  as  to  neglect  the 
Muses  ;  and  I  now  publicly  call  upon  Samuel  Rogers  1 
to  answer  to  his  name,  and  stand  forth  in  the  title- 
page  of  some  future  work  that  shall  be  in  substance 
greater,  in  dignity  of  subject  more  sublime,  and  in 
purity  of  versification  not  less  charming  than  the  poem 
aforesaid.1 

Among  the  most  successful  of  the  dramas  that  con- 
tinued to  pour  forth  from  Tunbridge  Wells  were  The 
Wheel  of  Fortune,  The  Mysterious  Husband,  The  Natural 
Son,  and  The  Jew,  the  latter  being  inspired  by  its 
author's  wish  to  awaken  sympathy  in  the  minds  of  the 

1  Rogers,  who  was  born   in    1763   and   died   in    1855,  published   his 
Pleasures  of  Memory  in  1792. 

103 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

public  for  an  oppressed  race.  He  was  fortunate  in 
having  his  pieces  presented  by  such  actors  as  Mrs. 
Siddons,  Mrs.  Abington,  Miss  Farren,  Henderson,  and 
John  Kemble.  Cumberland,  who  apologises  for  his 
prolificness  on  the  ground  that  he  *  never  did  nothing,1 
and  never  injured  his  health  nor  blunted  his  senses  by 
intemperance,  also  wrote  numerous  sermons,  versified 
fifty  of  the  Psalms,  and  published  a  tract  called  A  Few 
Plain  Reasons  for  Believing  in  the  Evidence  of  the 
Christian  Religion,  which  is  said  to  have  almost  per- 
suaded Foote  to  be  a  Christian.  His  Observer,  which 
consisted  of  critical  researches,  brief  accounts  of  the 
philosophers  and  poets,  and  historical  anecdotes,  was 
well  received  by  the  critics,  his  inquiry  into  the  history 
of  the  Greek  comic  poets  being  considered  a  contribution 
of  genuine  value. 

It  is  curious,  perhaps,  that  the  son  of  a  well-read 
and  highly  intellectual  woman,  who  had  specially  de- 
clared that  he  owed  everything  to  his  mother's  teaching, 
should  have  gone  out  of  his  way  to  throw  ridicule  on 
learned  women.  In  three  of  the  early  numbers  of  the 
Observer  a  female  pedant  is  exhibited,  who  is  in  danger 
of  forfeiting  the  hand  of  a  lover  unless  she  burns  all  her 
books  and  engages  never  again  to  quote  a  line  of  poetry 
as  long  as  she  lives.  *  For  God's  sake,'  exclaims  the 
lover,  '  what  have  women  to  do  with  learning  ? '  The 
required  promise  is  given,  and  shortly  after  her  mar- 
riage the  lady  is  asked  at  a  dinner-party  to  help  out  a 
fellow-guest  with  a  quotation  from  Pope's  Essay  on  Man. 
She  remembers  the  passage  perfectly ;  but  catching  her 
husband's  eye,  is  reminded  of  her  promise,  and  finally 
becomes  so  embarrassed  that  she  bursts  into  tears. 
*  Nothing  ever  equalled  the  tenderness  of  Henry  on  that 
104 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

occasion ' — the  lady  is  supposed  to  be  telling  the  anec- 
dote against  herself — '  nay,  I  thought  I  could  discover 
that  he  was  secretly  pleased  with  the  event,  as  it 
betrayed  a  consciousness  of  former  vanities,  and  seemed 
to  prove  that  I  had  repented  of  them.'  In  Cumber- 
land's comedy,  The  Natural  Son,  there  is  a  passage  on 
the  same  subject,  in  which,  however,  the  author's  bias 
is  less  apparent.  One  lady,  assuring  another  that  read- 
ing is  ruinous  to  the  complexion,  observes  :  '  Dr.  Calomel 
says  that  a  lady,  to  preserve  her  beauty,  should  not 
even  think  ;  he  has  wrote  a  book  purposely  to  dissuade 
people  from  reading.' — '  Every  book  he  writes  will  do 
that,'  is  the  witty  reply. 

A  new  departure  was  the  production  of  a  novel  called 
Arundel,  which  was  rapidly  written  during  a  few  weeks' 
stay  at  Brighton.  *  I  believe,'  says  the  author,  '  that 
Arundel  has  entertained  as  many  readers,  and  gained  as 
good  a  character  in  the  world  as  most  heroes  of  that 
description,  not  excepting  the  immaculate  Sir  Charles 
Grandison,  in  whose  company  I  have  never  found  myself 
without  being  puzzled  to  decide  whether  I  am  most 
edified  by  his  morality  or  disgusted  by  his  pedantry.' 

The  success  obtained  by  this  first  novel,  composed 
with  so  little  labour,  determined  Cumberland  to  write 
a  second,  upon  which  he  was  resolved  to  bestow  his 
utmost  care  and  diligence.  He  took  Fielding's  Tom 
Jones  as  his  model  in  point  of  detail,  copying  its 
arrangement  into  chapters  and  books.  He  had  this 
work,  which  he  entitled  Henri/,  in  hand  for  two  years, 
and  bestowed  unusual  polish  and  correction  upon  the 
style.  A  few  rules  which  he  laid  down  for  his  own 
guidance  may  be  worth  the  attention  of  novel-writers 
even  in  these  enlightened  times. 

105 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

4 1  would  have  the  story,'  he  observes, 4  carried  on  in 
a  regular  uninterrupted  progression  of  events,  without 
those  dull  recitals  that  call  the  attention  off  from  what 
is  going  on,  and  compel  it  to  look  back,  perhaps  in  the 
very  crisis  of  curiosity,  to  circumstances  antecedent  to, 
and  not  always  materially  connected  with,  the  history 
in  hand.  I  am  decidedly  averse  to  episodes  and  stories 
within  stories,  like  that  of  the  "  Man  of  the  Hill "  in  Tom 
Jones ;  and  in  general  all  expedients  of  procrastination 
which  come  under  the  description  of  mere  tricks  to 
torture  the  curiosity,  are,  in  my  opinion,  to  be  very 
sparingly  resorted  to,  if  not  totally  avoided.  Casualties 
and  broken  bones,  faintings  and  high  fevers,  with 
ramblings  of  delirium  and  rhapsodies  of  nonsense,  are 
perfectly  contemptible.  I  think  descriptive  writing, 
properly  so  distinguished,  is  very  apt  to  describe  nothing, 
and  that  landscapes  on  paper  leave  no  picture  in  the 
mind,  and  only  load  the  page  with  daubings  that  in  the 
author's  fancy  may  be  sketches  after  nature,  but  to  the 
reader's  eye  offer  nothing  but  confusion. 

4  A  novel,  professing  itself  to  the  delineation  of  men 
and  women,  as  they  are  in  nature,  should  in  general 
confine  itself  to  the  relation  of  things  probable ;  and 
though  in  skilled  hands  it  may  be  made  to  touch  upon 
things  barely  possible,  the  seldomer  it  risks  those  ex- 
periments, the  better  opinion  I  should  have  of  the 
contriver's  conduct.  I  do  not  think  quotations  orna- 
ment it,  and  poetry  must  be  extremely  good  before  I 
can  allow  it  is  of  any  use  to  it.  In  short,  there  should 
be  authorities  in  Nature  for  everything  that  is  intro- 
duced ;  and  the  only  case  I  can  recollect  in  which  the 
creator  of  the  fictitious  man  may  and  ought  to  differ 
from  the  biographer  of  the  real  man  is  that  the  former 
106 


is  bound  to  deal  out  his  rewards  to  the  virtuous  and 
punishments  to  the  vicious,  while  the  latter  has  no 
choice  but  to  adhere  to  the  truth  of  facts  and  leave  his 
hero  neither  better  nor  worse  than  he  found  him. 
Monsters  of  cruelty  and  crime,  monks  and  Zelucos, 
horrors  and  thunderings  and  ghosts  are  creatures  of 
another  region,  tools  appropriated  to  another  trade,  and 
are  only  to  be  handled  by  dealers  in  old  castles  and 
manufacturers  of  romance.  ...  I  am  encouraged  to 
believe  that  in  these  volumes  I  have  succeeded  in  what 
I  laboured  to  effect — a  simple,  clear,  harmonious  style ; 
which,  taken  as  a  model,  may  be  followed  without  lead- 
ing the  novice  into  turgidity  or  obscurity,  holding  a 
middle  tone  of  period,  neither  swelling  into  high-flown 
metaphor,  nor  sinking  into  inelegant  or  unclassical 
rusticity.  Whether  or  not  I  have  succeeded,  I  have 
certainly  endeavoured  to  reform  and  purify  my  native 
language  from  certain  false,  pedantic  prevalences  which 
were  much  in  fashion  when  I  first  became  a  writer.1 

Henry  was  a  fine  spirited  novel  of  the  Fielding  school, 
but  the  book  apparently  was  not  animated  by  the  vital 
spark,  and  is  now  as  dead  as  most  of  its  fellows.  The 
author  was  attacked  by  some  of  the  critics  for  the 
unnecessary  warmth  of  his  love-scenes ;  and  in  reply  to 
these  strictures  he  says  :  '  If  in  my  zeal  to  exhibit  virtue 
triumphant  over  the  most  tempting  allurements,  I  have 
painted  these  allurements  in  too  vivid  colours,  I  am 
sorry,  and  ask  pardon  of  all  those  who  thought  the 
moral  did  not  heal  the  mischief.'  Of  Cumberland's 
literary  style  readers  will  be  able  to  judge  by  the 
extracts  here  quoted.  To  the  modern  ear  his  language 
sounds  sufficiently  dignified,  though  free  from  Johnsonian 
pedantry,  and  it  is  passing  strange  to  read  that  he  was 

107 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

blamed  by  many  of  his  contemporaries  for  using  a  too 
familiar,  gossiping,  and  colloquial  style. 

Cumberland  gives  a  pleasant  account  of  his  occupa- 
tions and  amusements  in  his  later  years.  His  wife's 
health  never  recovered  from  the  fatigues  and  hardships 
of  the  Spanish  journey,  and  she  died  a  few  years  after 
the  family  had  settled  at  Tunbridge  Wells.  The  eldest 
daughter  married  Lord  Edward  Bentinck,1  brother  of  the 
Duke  of  Portland,  while  the  second  made  a  less  fortunate 
match  with  a  Mr.  Badcock,  and  was  early  left  a  widow, 
in  straitened  circumstances.  But  the  youngest,  Frances, 
who  had  been  born  in  Spain,  remained  at  home, 
and  became  her  father's  companion  and  amanuensis  in 
his  old  age.  Of  all  his  friends  and  neighbours  there 
was  none  whom  Cumberland  loved  so  well  as  Lord 
Sackville,  whose  place,  Stonelands,  was  within  an  hours 
ride  of  Tunbridge.  An  amusing  description  is  given  of 
the  life  led  by  the  old  nobleman  in  his  retirement, 
which  was  evidently  copied  from  that  of  a  famous 
model.  However  indisposed  he  might  be,  he  stepped 
into  his  breakfast-room  every  morning  at  half-past  nine 
with  a  complacent  countenance,  and  accoutred  at  all 
points.  He  allowed  an  hour  and  a  half  for  breakfast, 
and  regularly  at  eleven  took  his  morning's  circuit  on 
horseback.  It  was  his  custom  to  make  the  tour  of  his 
cottages,  to  ascertain  whether  the  roofs  were  in  repair 
and  the  gardens  well  cropped.  To  this  last  it  was  his 
tenants'  interest  to  attend;  for,  continues  Cumberland, 
'  he  bought  the  produce  of  their  fruit-trees,  and  I  have 
heard  him  say  with  great  satisfaction  that  he  has  paid 
thirty  shillings  in  a  season  for  strawberries  to  a  poor 
cottager  who  paid  one  shilling  annual  rent  for  his  house 
and  garden ;  this  was  the  constant  rent  at  which  he  let 
108 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

them  to  his  labourers,  and  he  made  them  pay  it  to  his 
steward  at  his  yearly  audit,  that  they  might  feel  them- 
selves in  the  class  of  regular  tenants,  and  sit  down  to 
the  good  cheer  provided  on  audit  day.  .  .  .  Upon  the 
very  first  report  of  an  illness  or  accident  relief  was  sent, 
and  the  sufferers  put  upon  the  sick  list,  regularly  visited, 
and  supplied  with  all  the  best  medicines  administered 
upon  the  best  advice.  It  was  his  custom  to  buy  his 
cast-oft'  liveries  of  his  own  servants,  and  these  he  dis- 
tributed to  the  old  worn-out  labourers  who  turned 
out  daily  on  the  lawn  in  the  Sackville  livery  to  pick 
up  boughs,  sweep  up  leaves,  and,  in  short,  do  just  as 
much  work  as  served  to  keep  them  wholesome  and 
alive.  .  .  . 

'  On  the  Sunday  morning  he  appeared  in  gala,  as  if 
dressed  for  a  drawing-room,  and  marched  out  his  whole 
family  in  grand  cavalcade  to  church,  leaving  only  a 
sentinel  at  home  to  mount  guard  upon  the  spits.  He 
had  a  habit  of  standing  up  in  sermon  time  to  review  the 
congregation  and  awe  the  idlers  into  decorum,  that 
reminded  me  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.  Sometimes, 
when  he  has  been  struck  with  passages  in  the  discourse 
which  he  wished  to  point  out  to  the  audience  as  rules 
for  moral  practice  worthy  to  be  noticed,  he  would  mark 
his  approbation  of  them  with  such  cheerful  nods  and 
signals  of  assent  to  the  preacher,  as  were  often  more 
than  my  muscles  could  withstand  ;  but  when  to  the 
total  overthrow  of  all  gravity,  in  his  zeal  to  encourage  a 
very  young  preacher,  I  heard  him  cry  out  to  the  Rev. 
Henry  Eatoff  in  the  middle  of  his  sermon,  "  Well  done, 
Harry  ! "  it  was  irresistible.' 

During  his  last  days  Lord  Sackville  discussed  with 
Cumberland,  plainly  and  temperately,  the  part  he  had 

109 


taken  at  the  Battle  of  Minden.  '  When  I  compare," 
says  the  latter,  '  what  he  said  to  me  in  his  last  moments 
(not  two  hours  before  he  expired)  with  what  he  stated 
at  this  conference,  if  I  did  not  from  my  heart,  and  upon 
the  most  entire  conviction  of  my  reason,  solemnly  acquit 
that  injured  man  (now  gone  to  his  account)  of  the 
opprobrious  and  false  imputations  deposed  against  him 
at  his  trial,  I  must  be  either  brutally  ignorant  or 
wilfully  obstinate  against  the  truth.1  The  world  in 
general  has  now  agreed  to  acquit  Lord  George  of  the 
charge  of  cowardice,  and  to  sum  up  its  opinion,  not  only 
of  his  action  at  Minden,  but  of  the  trial  that  followed, 
in  the  words,  '  Somebody  blundered.' 

The  pen  alone  did  not  occupy  all  our  hero's  leisure  in 
his  latter  days,  for  at  one  time  he  spent  almost  as  many 
hours  on  the  drilling-ground  as  in  the  study.  '  When,' 
he  writes,  '  the  consequences  arising  from  the  French 
Revolution  had  involved  us  in  a  war,  our  country  called 
upon  its  patriotic  volunteers  to  turn  out  and  assemble 
in  its  defence.'  Several  friends  in  the  neighbourhood 
volunteered  to  mount  and  form  themselves  into  a  troop 
of  yeomanry  under  Cumberland's  command  ;  but  diffident 
of  his  fitness  to  act  as  leader,  he  recommended  them  to 
another  gentleman,  who  had  served  in  the  regular  army. 
A  little  later,  however,  when  it  was  proposed  to  raise  a 
corps  of  volunteer  infantry,  he  no  longer  hesitated  to 
obey  the  wishes  of  the  loyal  and  spirited  young  men 
who  offered  to  enrol  themselves  under  his  command.  A 
regiment  of  two  full  companies  was  raised,  and  Cumber- 
land received  his  Majesty's  commission  to  command  it 
with  the  rank  of  Major  Commandant.  He  pays  a  high 
tribute  to  the  assiduity  and  discipline  of  his  men,  whom 
he  reported  as  ready  and  willing  to  serve  in  any  part  of 
110 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

England.  When  disbanded  at  the  Peace  of  Amiens, 
the  regiment  presented  its  commandant  with  a  sword  of 
honour,  and  begged  permission  to  hold  arms  and  serve 
without  pay. 

The  renewal  of  hostilities  again  put  the  corps,  now 
raised  to  four  full  companies,  under  arms,  and  Cumber- 
land was  once  more  placed  at  their  head.  He  observes, 
in  describing  his  volunteer  experiences,  that  '  if  we  take 
into  consideration  the  prodigious  magnitude  and  extent 
of  the  volunteer  system,  we  shall  find  that  it  has  been 
productive  of  more  real  use  and  less  incidental  embarrass- 
ment to  Government  than  could  have  been  expected. 
After  the  proofs  which  the  capital  and  the  country  have 
given  of  the  spirit,  discipline,  and  good  order  of  their 
volunteers,  both  cavalry  and  infantry,  it  is  not  wise  or 
politic  or  liberal  to  disparage  them,  as  some  have 
attempted  to  do.'  Having  described  how  his  men,  when 
called  out  on  permanent  duty,  took  their  shilling  a  day 
and  their  straw  at  night  in  lieu  of  the  high  pay  they 
were  receiving  as  carpenters  and  masons,  he  continues  : 
*  Can  I  suppose  that  men  like  these  would  disgrace  their 
colours  or  desert  their  officers?  Their  officers,  I  am 
sure,  will  exchange  that  confidence  with  them,  and  I 
believe  there  was  no  commandant  who  was  not  satisfied 
of  the  alertness  of  his  men  in  that  crisis,  when  expecta- 
tion watched  the  beacon  that  was  to  give  the  signal  for 
their  turning  out  upon  a  moment's  notice.  It  was  not 
then  the  season  to  inquire  from  what  shops  they  issued ; 
and  the  buffoon,  who  had  risked  a  silly  sneer  at  any  man's 
vocation,  would  have  met  with  about  as  much  applause 
for  his  gabble  as  a  goose  would  for  her  hissing.  I 
readily  admit  that  it  must  be  every  loyal  man's  wish  to 
keep  alive  the  martial  spirit  of  the  country,  but  how  it 

111 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

can  be  any  rational  man's  expectation  to  accomplish 
that  wish  by  discouraging  and  revolting  the  volunteers, 
is  a  riddle  that  defies  solution.'  These  words  were 
written  nearly  a  hundred  years  ago  by  the  oldest 
volunteer  officer  in  the  country ;  we  have  only  lately 
realised  their  full  significance. 

Cumberland  was  never,  one  suspects,  a  good  man  of 
business,  and  in  his  old  age  his  financial  difficulties  seem 
to  have  increased  upon  him.  In  1804  he  was  induced 
to  write  his  Memoirs  by  an  offer  from  the  house  of 
Lackington  and  Allen  of  five  hundred  pounds.  In 
1806,  when  a  second  edition  was  brought  out,  he  added 
a  supplement,  giving  a  few  more  details  of  his  life,  and 
answering  the  strictures  of  some  of  his  critics,  more 
especially  a  writer  in  the  newly-started  Edinburgh  Review, 
who  had  blamed  him  for  his  egotism,  and  animadverted 
upon  his  style.  The  old  lion  still  had  a  roar  left  in  him, 
and  in  commenting  upon  this  criticism  he  covers  his 
wounded  vanity  with  a  mask  of  stately  severity.  *  I 
understand,'  he  observes,  '  that  these  acrimonious  North 
Britons  are  young  men ;  I  rejoice  to  hear  it,  not  only 
for  the  honour  of  old  age,  but  in  the  hope  that  they 
will  live  long  enough  to  discover  the  error  of  their 
ambition,  the  misapplication  of  their  talents,  and  that 
the  combination  they  have  formed  to  mortify  their  con- 
temporaries is  in  fact  a  conspiracy  to  undo  themselves.' 

In  addition  to  the  plays  which  he  continued  to  pour 
out  in  endless  profusion,  and  which  at  last  could  only 
be  forced  on  the  stage  by  means  of  intercession  and 
flattery,  Cumberland  undertook  in  1809  the  conduct  of 
the  London  Review,  a  new  literary  periodical  which  was 
intended  as  a  rival  to  the  Quarterly.  All  the  articles 
in  this  review  were  to  be  signed,  the  editor  having,  what 
112 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

one  of  his  biographers  calls,  *  the  chimerical  idea  that 
contemporary  criticism  could  derive  advantage  by  being 
robbed  of  anonymous  importance/  Cumberland  suffered, 
like  most  pioneers,  for  being  in  advance  of  his  time,  and 
the  Review  died  with  its  second  or  third  number.  In 
the  same  year  the  veteran  writer  published  his  last  novel, 
John  de  Lancaster,  in  which  he  pronounced  a  doleful 
lamentation  over  the  lack  of  appreciation  with  which  he 
had  been  treated  by  his  contemporaries.  'If,  in  the 
course  of  my  literary  labours,1  he  complains,  '  I  had  been 
less  studious  to  adhere  to  nature  and  simplicity,  I  am 
perfectly  convinced  1  should  have  stood  higher  in  estima- 
tion with  the  purchasers  of  copyright,  and  probably  have 
been  read  and  patronised  by  my  contemporaries  in  the 
proportion  of  ten  to  one.1*  Scott,  who  reviewed  the  novel 
in  The  Quarterly,  was  probably  irritated  by  this  com- 
plaint; for  he  says  of  the  author,  with  much  less  than 
his  usual  good  nature,  *  He  has  written  comedies  at  which 
we  have  cried,  and  tragedies  at  which  we  have  laughed ; 
he  has  composed  indecent  novels  and  religious  epics ;  he 
has  pandered  to  the  public  lust  for  personal  anecdote 
by  writing  his  own  life  and  the  private  history  of  his 
acquaintance.1  Sir  Walter  was  much  kinder  in  the 
biographical  notice  prefixed  to  the  edition  of  Cumber- 
land's novels  which  he  edited  for  the  Novelists'  Library. 
In  that  he  awards  high  praise  to  The  West  Indian ;  and 
declares  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  Sheridan,  the  author 
of  that  play  would  have  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
dramatic  writers  of  his  period. 

Cumberland  does  not  appear  to  have  been  a  prolific 

correspondent ;  at  any  rate,  few  of  his  letters  have  found 

their  way  into   print.      In  the  two  volumes  of  Garrick's 

Correspondence   are    a    few  notes    from   our  dramatist, 

H  113 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

relating  chiefly  to  details  connected  with  the  production 
of  his  plays.  Two  or  three  undated  manuscript  letters 
from  him  to  Mrs.  Abington,  written  apparently  about 
1781-82,  may  be  seen  in  the  Manuscript  Room  of  the 
British  Museum.  These  relate  to  a  play,  apparently 
the  Widow  of  Delphi,  in  which  Mrs.  Abington  was  to 
play  the  leading  part. 

'  I  flatter  myself,1  runs  the  first,  *  we  shall  now  renew 
our  dramatic  friendship  and  connection  with  mutual 
satisfaction  and  pleasure.  I  have  reformed  the  passages 
you  pointed  out,  and  since  I  have  been  here  [Tunbridge 
Wells]  I  have  written  a  prologue  which  contents  me 
much,  and  an  epilogue  for  you,  which  does  not  so  easily 
satisfy  my  ambition  of  doing  something  not  unworthy 
of  the  elegant  representative.  However,  we  will  sit  in 
equal  and  strict  judgment  upon  it.  The  time  I  own  is 
pressing,  and  the  man  is  precarious — yet  under  the  shelter 
of  your  shield  I  defy  auguries.  ...  I  flatter  myself  we 
shall  be  successful ;  and  as  we  started  with  the  Bishop's 
blessing,  we  shall  plead  benefit  of  clergy  in  arrest  of 
judgment.  Recollect,  my  dear  madam,  that  the  play  is 
got  up  with  no  other  difficulty  than  what  arises  from 
the  long  and  laborious  part  of  the  widow,  and  that  will 
be  in  the  hands  of  a  lady  who,  whatever  you  may  have 
to  say  to  the  contrary,  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  very  first 
ornament  of  the  English  stage,  and  that  in  a  period 
when  it  abounds  with  genius. — I  have  the  honour  to  be 
that  lady's  most  devoted  old  poet  and  obliged  humble 
servant,  RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.' 

The  play  was  evidently  less  successful  than  had  been 
anticipated,  for  in  the  next  letter  the  author  says  :  *  I 
cannot  express  to  you  how  kindly  I  feel  your  sensibility 
114 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

to  me,  and  how  much  obliged  to  you  I  am  both  for  your 
flattering  and  consolatory  letters.  If  I  should  deprive 
myself  of  other  favours  of  the  same  sort,  by  declaring  to 
you  that  I  neither  do,  nor  ever  did  experience  any  real 
vexation  for  the  treatment  I  have  received  from  Mr. 
Harris  [the  manager],  I  should  lose  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure  for  a  small  vanity ;  but  in  truth  and  sincerity 
I  must  say  that  no  treatment  from  that  party,  nor  any 
dramatic  disappointment,  can  now  disturb  my  temper. 
Time  was  (I  confess  it  to  my  shame)  when  success  was 
too  much  the  object  of  my  wishes  ;  that  anxiety  has  now 
lost  its  edge,  and  I  take  events  as  they  fall,  without  a 
murmur  or  complaint.  I  enter  upon  these  undertakings 
with  hopes  of  so  low  a  pitch,  and  with  resolutions  so 
well  fortified  against  miscarriage,  that  I  am  never  taken 
by  surprise.  But  in  the  present  case,  what  have  I  lost  ? 
how  have  I  suffered  ?  at  what  should  I  repine  ?  I  have 
had  a  piece  well  approved,  and  you  have  been  the  sup- 
porter of  its  introduction,  representation,  and  success. 
Could  I  for  a  moment  state  the  case  that  your  opinion 
had  fallen  from  me  by  the  exhibition,  that  I  confess 
would  have  been  a  wound ;  but  on  the  contrary  of  this, 
I  have  gained  the  most  pleasing  proofs  of  your  friend- 
ship, zeal,  and  affection  for  my  peace  of  mind  as  well  as 
credit,  and  the  acquisition  of  such  a  friend  is  more  to 
me  than  I  will  undertake  to  tell  you,  though  I  shall  not 
be  so  scrupulous  in  speaking  of  it  to  others.1 

In  spite  of  his  strongly  expressed  satisfaction  with  the 
success  of  his  piece,  Cumberland  in  his  next  letter  is 
asking  Mrs.  Abington  for  her  kind  negotiations  on  behalf 
of  the  play,  which  he  is  anxious  to  have  acted  another 
night  or  two  before  the  conclusion  of  the  season.  In 
any  case  he  hopes  that  '  the  house  will  have  so  much 

115 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

consideration  for  me  as  to  quit  the  play  with  a  short 
paragraph,  which  will  cost  them  nothing,  and  may  secure 
it  from  the  ill-natured  conclusions  of  such  newspaper 
malice  as  The  World  and  other  public  prints  of  the  day 
are  too  ready  to  announce,  when  a  play  is  laid  aside  for 
a  season.'  There  speaks  the  true  Sir  Fretful  Plagiary, 
who  can  never  help  wincing  under  the  attacks  of  those 
whom  he  affects  to  despise. 

Cumberland  died  in  1811,  aged  seventy-nine,  and  was 
buried  in  Poets1  Corner,  Westminster  Abbey,  near  the 
tomb  of  Garrick.  His  friend,  Dr.  Vincent,  Dean  of 
Westminster,  pronounced  the  funeral  oration,  in  which 
he  described  the  deceased  author  as  being  in  his  works 
a  moralist  of  the  highest  order,  who  considered  the 
theatre  as  a  school  of  moral  improvement,  and  added 
that  '  his  remains  are  truly  worthy  of  mingling  with  the 
illustrious  dead  that  surround  us.'  Some  of  the  auditors 
are  said  to  have  wondered  whether  the  Dean  had  ever 
read  certain  warmly-tinted  passages  in  his  friend's  novels 
Henry  and  Arundel. 

To  the  last  Cumberland  is  described  as  an  agreeable 
and  even  fascinating  companion,  though  he  was  so  fond 
of  flattery  himself  that  he  supposed  it  to  be  acceptable 
to  others,  even  in  the  most  exuberant  proportions. 
Certain  it  is  that,  although  he  was  not  altogether  happy 
in  his  temperament,  he  made  many  friends ;  and  though 
time  has  dealt  hardly  with  his  reputation,  one  piece  of 
good  fortune  can  never  be  taken  from  him,  namely,  the 
prospect  of  going  down  to  posterity  astride  the  epitaph 
in  Goldsmith's  Retaliation  as 

'The  Terence  of  England,  the  mender  of  hearts.' 

116 


LADY  CRAVEN 

(MARGRAVINE  OF  ANSPACH) 


LADY    CRAVEN 

(MARGRAVINE  OF  ANSPACH) 
(1750-1828) 

*  Her  life,  if  faithfully  written,  would  make  a  most  extra- 
ordinary book?  So  wrote  Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe, 
the  Scottish  Horace  Walpole,  of  the  subject  of  this 
memoir.  Unfortunately,  Lady  Craven's  life  never  has 
been  faithfully  written  though — or  because — she  wrote 
it  herself.  The  most  that  can  now  be  done  is  to  read 
between  the  lines  of  her  story,  as  she  told  it,  and  to 
punctuate  her  rose-coloured  account  of  her  own  career 
with  the  gossiping  comments  of  her  contemporaries. 
It  must  be  confessed  that  her  ladyship,  who  is  said  to 
have  been  an  admirable  raconteur  in  society,  had  a  dull 
and  incoherent  prose  style ;  and  was  so  engrossed  by  the 
contemplation  of  her  own  beauty,  virtues,  and  accom- 
plishments, that  it  is  necessary  to  sift  her  autobiography 
and  letters  very  carefully  in  order  to  extract  a  few  grains 
of  amusement,  or  even  of  truth. 

Elizabeth,  Lady  Craven,  afterwards  Princess  of  Berkeley 
and  Margravine  of  Anspach,  was  the  youngest  daughter 
of  Augustus,  fourth  Earl  of  Berkeley,  and  was  born  in 
1750.  Lady  Berkeley,1  nee  Drax,  was  a  handsome, 

1  Horace  Walpole  says  of  Lady  Berkeley  :  '  There  is  nothing  so 
black  of  which  she  is  not  capable.  Her  gallantries  are  the  whitest 
specks  about  her. ' 

119 


LADY  CRAVEN 

lively,  unprincipled  woman,  who  was  chiefly  remarkable 
for  having  produced  three  daughters  at  a  birth  when 
her  husband  particularly  desired  a  son  and  heir.  Eliza- 
beth was  not  one  of  the  three,  who  all  died  in  infancy ; 
but  belonging  to  a  despised  sex,  and  being  a  puny, 
miserable-looking  baby,  it  seems  to  have  been  taken 
for  granted  that  she  would  not  live,  and  she  was  left 
neglected  on  a  chair  by  her  mother's  bedside.  Lord 
Berkeley's  aunt,  Lady  Albemarle,  coming  to  visit  her 
niece,  was  about  to  sit  down  on  the  same  chair, 
thinking  that  it  only  contained  a  piece  of  flannel, 
when  the  screams  of  the  nurse  prevented  a  catastrophe, 
and  the  premature  flattening  of  a  very  high-spirited 
young  lady.  Lady  Albemarle,  on  examining  the  baby, 
declared  that  it  would  live  if  properly  looked  after, 
sent  out  for  a  wet-nurse,  and  practically  saved  the 
child's  life. 

Elizabeth  afterwards  attributed  the  clearness  of  her 
ideas,  which  she  says  was  a  comfort  to  both  her  husbands, 
though  it  is  conspicuously  lacking  in  her  writings,  to  the 
fact  that  as  a  child  she  was  too  delicate  to  be  tossed  in 
the  air  or  jolted  about  on  her  nurse's  knees.  This  theory 
was  confirmed  to  her  own  satisfaction  by  the  testimony 
of  Pere  Elisee,  surgeon  to  Louis  xvi.,  who  declared  that 
the  reason  so  many  English  children  were  delicate,  and 
suffered  from  water  on  the  brain,  was  because  of  the 
infamous  custom  of  shaking  and  tossing  them  before  the 
head  was  properly  supported  by  the  fibres  of  the  neck. 
'  Although  I  was  always  complimented  on  being  quite 
superior,  and  otherwise  gifted  by  nature  to  the  generality 
of  my  sex,'  she  observes,  with  that  superb  complacency 
which  was  her  most  striking  characteristic,  '  I  always 
attributed  such  accomplishments  to  the  effect  of  my 
120 


LADY  CRAVEN 

education.  Instead  of  skipping  over  ropes,  I  was  taught 
to  pay  and  receive  visits  with  other  children,  and  supposed 
myself  a  lady  who  was  receiving  company.1 

Lady  Berkeley  cared  more  about  society  and  admira- 
tion, to  say  nothing  of  flirtations,  than  about  her  domestic 
duties;  and  her  husband,  becoming  anxious  about  the 
future  of  his  two  little  girls,  sent  for  the  Swiss  wife  of  a 
former  tutor,  gave  her  a  house  in  the  park,  and  solemnly 
requested  her  to  take  charge  of  Lady  Georgiana  and 
Lady  Elizabeth,  and  never  to  leave  them  until  they 
married.  So  impressive  were  his  injunctions,  that  the 
good  woman  fainted  away  after  having  faithfully  pro- 
mised to  carry  out  the  trust.  Lord  Berkeley  died  when 
Elizabeth  was  only  five  years  old,  and  shortly  afterwards 
his  widow  married  Lord  Nugent,  poet,  politician,  and 
fortune-hunter.  His  first  wife  had  been  a  daughter  of 
Lord  Fingal,  his  second  Ann  Craggs  (sister  of  the 
Secretary  of  State),  who  was  old  and  ugly,  and  had 
already  disposed  of  two  husbands,  but  possessed  an  all- 
redeeming  fortune  of  a  hundred  thousand  pounds.  After 
her  death,  though  he  was  then  fifty-five,  Lord  Nugent 
seems  to  have  looked  out  for  beauty  and  comparative 
youth  as  well  as  money ;  but  having  been  the  enfant  chcri 
of  two  plain,  elderly  wives,  he  was  unable  to  get  on 
with  the  headstrong,  high-spirited  Lady  Berkeley,  and 
the  pair  separated  after  only  two  years  of  married  life. 

Elizabeth  tells  us  that  her  passion  for  reading  was  early 
developed,  and  that  she  was  a  precocious  performer  at 
both  reciting  and  dancing.  Not  being  a  favourite  at 
home,  she  had  no  idea  that  she  was  pretty ;  while  her 
mother's  harsh  treatment  produced  *  that  look  of  modesty 
and  timidity  which,  contrasted  with  my  natural  vivacity 
and  love  for  all  that  was  gay  and  cheerful,  fascinated 

121 


LADY  CRAVEN 

every  one  in  so  powerful  a  degree.'  The  education  of  the 
two  little  girls  under  their  Swiss  governess  seems  to 
have  been  more  sensible  than  that  of  the  ordinary  young 
lady  of  the  period.  They  were  taught  to  dress  them- 
selves, to  make  their  own  beds,  and,  when  the  weather 
was  too  wet  for  out-door  exercise,  were  made  to  sweep 
the  rooms  and  arrange  the  furniture.  At  Berkeley 
Castle  they  received  regular  instruction  in  housewifery, 
visiting  in  turn  the  kitchen,  laundry,  and  cheese-farms. 
When  the  family  were  in  London  the  girls  were  sent  for 
once  a  week  by  their  great-aunts  Lady  Suffolk1  and  Lady 
Betty  Germaine  (nee  Berkeley)  to  spend  the  day.  Lady 
Suffolk  was  Elizabeth's  godmother,  and  took  a  special 
interest  in  the  child's  education.  Her  godfather  was 
her  father's  brother,  Narbonne  Berkeley,  afterwards  Lord 
Bottetourt,  who  ruined  himself  by  his  generosity,  though 
he  neither  gamed  nor  drank.  He  frequently  gave  his 
god-child  two  guineas  to  spend ;  but  finding  that  she 
always  gave  the  money  to  the  poor,  he  told  her  to  make 
out  a  list  of  the  things  she  wanted,  and  he  would  buy 
them  for  her.  When  she  was  ten  years  old,  he  gave  her 
a  magnificent  doll,  dressed  in  a  Court  dress,  and  made 
to  resemble  her  as  exactly  as  possible,  with  blushing 
cheeks,  and  head  slightly  averted,  a  trick  that  her 
timidity  had  taught  her. 

In  the  winter  of  1765-6,  Lady  Berkeley  (who  seems 

1  Lady  Suffolk,  whose  second  husband  was  the  Hon.  George  Berkeley, 
was,  of  course,  the  former  Mrs.  Howard,  mistress  of  George  II.,  while  the 
witty  Lady  Betty  Germaine  was  notorious  for  her  connection  with  Lionel, 
Duke  of  Dorset,  to  whose  second  son,  Lord  George  Sackville,  she  left  her 
fortune  and  her  name.  Lady  Craven  was  not  fortunate  in  the  example  set 
her  by  her  aunts,  her  great-great-aunt,  Lady  Henrietta  Berkeley,  having 
created  a  scandal  at  the  end  of  the  previous  century  by  eloping  with  her 
brother-in-law,  Lord  Grey  of  Werk. 

122 


LADY  CRAVEN 

to  have  kept  her  first  title)  took  her  two  daughters  to 
Paris  to  meet  her  eldest  son,  who  had  been  studying  at 
the  Academy  of  Turin.  There  being  a  great  gale  in  the 
Channel,  Lady  Berkeley  was  terrified,  Lady  Georgiana 
fainted,  and  the  maid  was  helpless.  Elizabeth  alone, 
according  to  her  own  account,  kept  her  senses.  '  As  I 
thought  mariners  knew  better  than  myself  if  there  were 
any  danger,1  she  says,  '  I  went  and  addressed  the  captain, 
and  with  one  of  my  best  curtsies,  asked  him  if  there  was 
any  danger ;  he  told  me  none.  I  then  began  to  feel 
sick,  and  asked  him  if  he  could  give  me  anything  to  stop 
the  sickness.  He  desired  to  know  if  I  had  ever  drunk 
any  brandy,  and  on  my  replying,  "  Oh,  no  ! "  he  gave  me 
some,  which  soon  allayed  the  complaint.' 

In  Paris  Lady  Berkeley's  house  became  a  rendezvous 
for  all  the  young  Englishmen  who  passed  through. 
Her  two  pretty  daughters  astonished  their  countrymen, 
we  are  told,  by  their  indifference  to  homage,  and  the 
calmness  with  which  they  received  the  most  flattering 
attentions.  Elizabeth  attributes  this  rather  unusual 
trait  to  the  fact  that  they  had  been  accustomed  to  give 
and  attend  numerous  children's  parties  in  London, 
where  the  boys,  among  whom  were  numbered  Lords 
Egremont,  Tyrconnel,  Cholmondeley,  and  Carlisle,  were 
kept  in  good  order  by  the  girls,  and  sent  to  Coventry  if 
they  were  inclined  to  be  rude  or  boisterous.  'Such 
an  education,'  she  observes,  '  took  from  us  that  foolish 
delight  and  overstrained  avidity  with  which  young 
English  ladies  treat  men  when  they  are  brought  out 
into  society.' 

One  of  the  most  regular  visitors  was  Lord  Forbes, 
eldest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Granard,  who  played  loo 
every  Friday  evening  with  Lady  Berkeley  without  ever 

123 


LADY  CRAVEN 

addressing  himself  to  her  daughters.  There  was  usually  a 
lottery- table  for  the  amusement  of  the  young  people,  over 
which  Lady  Georgiana  presided.  After  a  time,  however, 
she  said  that  she  preferred  to  look  on  at  the  loo-table, 
and  left  Elizabeth  to  manage  the  lottery.  One  night 
Georgiana  stole  to  her  sister's  bed  and  said,  '  Bessy,  I 
am  in  love.'  It  turned  out  that  Lord  Forbes  was  the 
object  of  her  passion,  at  which  Elizabeth  was  amazed, 
for  the  young  man  was  ugly,  a  widower,  and  had  *  a 
foolish  sort  of  Irish  humour  which  was  very  disgust- 
ing." Georgiana  confessed  that  she  had  spoken  first 
to  Lord  Forbes,  being  piqued  at  his  openly-shown 
indifference. 

Georgiana  refused  to  tell  her  mother  about  her  love- 
affair,  but  promised  that  her  sister  should  know  more 
the  next  night,  when  they  were  going  to  a  bed  masque. 
At  the  ball  Elizabeth  herself  had  an  adventure,  which 
caused  her  more  alarm  than  pleasure.  While  walking 
with  her  sister  and  Lord  Forbes,  a  domino  suddenly 
threw  himself  at  her  feet,  and  exclaimed,  '  Lady  Eliza- 
beth, I  shall  die  if  you  do  not  hear  me.'  He  pulled  off 

his  mask,  and  she  beheld  *  the  handsome  Mr. , 

perhaps  the  handsomest  man  to  be  seen  in  any  country.' 
Surprised  and  terrified,  the  child,  for  she  was  little 
more,  drew  back,  and  made  no  reply.  The  anonymous 
gentleman  asked  leave  to  speak  to  Lady  Berkeley, 
whereupon  Lord  Forbes  answered  jokingly,  *  It  is  a 
dumb  chicken,  but  I  '11  roast  her  for  this.'  The  admirer 
was  in  earnest,  however,  for  a  few  days  later  he  formally 
requested  permission  to  pay  his  addresses  to  Lady 
Elizabeth,  but  was  refused  point-blank,  his  offer  causing 
much  amusement  to  her  family.  About  the  same  time 
Lord  Forbes  proposed  for  Lady  Georgiana,  but  was 
124 


told  that  he  must  wait  for  an  answer  until  the  party 
returned  to  England,  as  her  guardians,  Lord  Boston 
and  Lord  Vere,  must  be  consulted.  The  young  lady, 
impatient  of  delay,  confided  to  her  sister  her  intention 
of  running  away  with  Lord  Forbes ;  but  Elizabeth,  by 
dint  of  threats  and  persuasions,  prevailed  on  her  to 
wait  until  she  heard  what  her  guardians  had  to  say 
in  the  matter. 

In  April  the  whole  family  was  back  in  London. 
Lord  Forbes1  offer  was  refused,  chiefly,  it  appears,  on 
the  ground  of  his  being  a  widower.  Georgiana  cried, 
and  vowed  that  she  would  never  marry  any  other  man  ; 
but  Lady  Berkeley  tried  to  console  her  with  the  prospect 
of  being  presented  at  Court  that  season,  when  so  many 
men  would  be  in  love  with  her  that  she  would  think  no 
more  of  her  first  suitor.  The  presentation  took  place, 
and  on  the  evening  of  the  same  day  Lady  Georgiana 
eloped  with  Lord  Forbes.  Great  was  the  wrath  of  the 
young  lady's  family,  while  her  guardian,  Lord  Boston, 
declared  that  he  was  the  most  unfortunate  person  alive, 
for  he  had  never  had  but  two  wards,  Miss  Bayley  (the 
first  Lady  Forbes)  and  Lady  Georgiana  Berkeley,  and 
the  same  man  had  run  away  with  both  ! 

Elizabeth  seems  to  have  been  punished  for  her  sister's 
delinquencies.  She  was  made  to  sleep  in  her  mother's 
room  until  her  marriage ;  and  as  Lady  Berkeley  was  con- 
tinually bemoaning  the  loss  of  her  favourite  daughter, 
poor  Cinderella's  lot  was  not  a  happy  one.  In  the 
autumn  of  1766  she  was  presented  at  Court,  much 
against  her  own  wishes,  and  thenceforward  received 
enough  admiration  to  have  turned  the  head  of  any 
other  girl ;  but  nothing — we  have  her  own  word  for 
it — could  ever  make  her  vain.  The  Princess  of  Wales 

125 


LADY  CRAVEN 

complimented  Lady  Berkeley  upon  her  daughter's  beauty, 
and  the  King's  brother,  the  susceptible  Duke  of  Cum- 
berland, was  supposed  to  be  in  Jove  with  her.  Eliza- 
beth, whose  chosen  role  was  one  of  modest  timidity, 
declares  that  she  hated  all  the  men  who  made  love  to 
her,  though  she  confesses  to  a  tendresse  for  her  cousin, 
the  Marquis  de  Fitz  James,  grandson  of  the  Duke  of 
Berwick,  who  was  violently  in  love  with  Lady  Bell  Stan- 
hope. Being  refused  by  her,  he  came  every  day  to  pour 
out  his  woes  to  his  little  cousin,  whose  pity  seems  to  have 
been  very  near  akin  to  love.  Her  refusal  to  encourage 
any  of  her  numerous  lovers  enraged  Lady  Berkeley, 
who  attributed  this  reserve  to  pride  and  disdain. 

In  order  to  free  herself  from  continual  reproaches, 
Elizabeth  sent  for  one  of  her  uncles,  and  created  him,  as 
she  said,  her  ambassador.  She  told  him  that  she  was  in 
constant  terror  lest  her  mother  should  compel  her  to 
marry  a  man  whom  she  disliked,  and  therefore  she  wished 
to  make  a  treaty  to  the  effect  that  as  long  as  she  was 
not  teased  to  accept  any  man  who  was  disagreeable  to 
her,  she  would  agree  to  marry  any  suitor  approved  by 
Lady  Berkeley  to  whom  she  herself  had  no  personal 
objection.  This  treaty  being  concluded,  Elizabeth  en- 
joyed a  fancied  security,  and  amused  herself  in  her  own 
fashion.  Her  brother,  Lord  Berkeley,  taught  her  to 
ride,  shoot,  and  row,  with  a  view  to  overcoming  her 
natural  timidity,  while  she  was  able  to  indulge  her  own 
taste  for  music  and  private  theatricals. 

This  happy  freedom  was  not  to  last  very  long.  Mr. 
Craven,  the  nephew  and  heir  of  Lord  Craven,  fell  in 
love  with  her  at  first  sight ;  and  though  he  had  never 
been  introduced  to  her,  he  sent  a  friend  to  propose  for 
her  hand.  Elizabeth  professed  to  be  highly  offended 
126 


LADY  CRAVEN 

at  this  presumption ;  but  the  match  was  evidently  con- 
sidered too  good  to  be  refused  point-blank,  and  it  was 
arranged  that  the  young  couple  should  make  each  other's 
acquaintance  at  a  dinner  at  Richmond.  Presumably, 
Elizabeth  felt  no  actual  repugnance  to  her  latest  suitor  ; 
for  negotiations  were  entered  into  with  his  uncles,  who 
consented  to  lend  him  a  house,  and  make  him  a  suitable 
allowance  on  his  marriage.  During  the  period  of  wait- 
ing Mr.  Craven,  in  accordance  with  what  seems  to  have 
been  the  custom  among  the  young  men  of  his  set,  asked 
his  fiancee  to  run  away  with  him  ;  and  when  she,  more 
prudent  than  her  elder  sister,  refused,  he  declared  that 
she  could  not  be  in  love  with  him.  Elizabeth  confessed 
that  she  had  never  known  love,  but  assured  him  that 
she  felt  both  gratitude  and  regard  for  him,  with  which 
chilly  comfort  he  had  to  be  content.  The  wedding  was, 
in  some  sort,  the  cause  of  a  family  reconciliation ;  for 
Elizabeth,  who  had  persuaded  Lady  Berkeley  to  forgive 
and  receive  the  runaway  Lady  Forbes,  insisted  that 
Lord  Nugent  should  allow  her  two  young  step-sisters  to 
be  her  bridesmaids,  though  he  had  vowed  that  they 
should  never  enter  their  mother's  house  again.  Among 
the  wedding  presents  was  a  purse  containing  a  hundred 
newly-coined  guineas  from  old  Lady  Betty  Germaine, 
with  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  was  written,  '  To  my  dear 
niece,  Lady  Elizabeth  Berkeley,  the  last  time  that  I 
shall  call  her  by  that  name.1 

In  1767,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  our  heroine  was 
married,  and  during  the  next  two  years  the  couple  lived  at 
Ashdown  Park,  in  Berkshire,  where  two  daughters  were 
born  to  them.  '  Mr.  Craven's  attachment  to  me,' 
writes  his  wife,  *  seemed  to  increase  daily ;  my  manners 
were  such  a  novelty  to  him  that  he  has  often  told  me 

127 


LADY  CRAVEN 

he  was  as  much  alarmed  at  the  delicacy  of  my  mind  as 
of  my  person.1  Mr.  Craven  appears  to  have  been 
neglected  in  his  youth,  having  been  left  at  Oxford  by 
his  guardians  until  he  was  one-and-thirty,  with  an 
allowance  of  only  eighty  pounds  a  year.  Though  Oxford 
was  nominally  his  headquarters,  he  had  spent  his  time 
in  rambling  from  one  country-house  to  another,  hunting 
here  and  shooting  there,  until  at  last  he  became  quite 
uneasy  if  he  remained  longer  than  three  weeks  in  one 
place.  '  Until  I  met  you,  my  love,1  he  told  his  wife,  '  I 
never  stayed  three  days  in  one  place.1  Elizabeth  de- 
scribes him  as  having  a  good  heart  and  sound  judgment, 
but  with  no  taste  for  art  or  literature.  He  was  generous 
and  extravagant,  hated  trouble,  and  had  a  bad  habit  of 
settling  his  accounts  only  once  a  year.  His  wife,  who 
had  been  taught  that  weekly  payments  were  a  safer 
plan,  asked  for  an  allowance  of  pin-money  ;  and  being 
given  four  hundred  a  year,  told  him  that  he  should 
never  be  troubled  by  a  bill  of  hers.  Out  of  this  income 
she  founded  a  school  for  orphan  girls  at  Newbury. 

Two  years  after  his  marriage  Mr.  Craven's  uncle  died, 
and  he  came  into  the  title  and  a  large  property,  which 
included  Combe  Abbey,  near  Coventry,  and  Benham 
House.  A  jointure  of  three  thousand  a  year  was  settled 
on  the  new  Lady  Craven,  and  her  husband  delighted  in 
procuring  for  her  all  the  luxuries  in  his  power.  '  It 
was  an  eternal  dispute  between  us,'  she  says ;  '  he 
always  offering  presents,  and  I  refusing  whenever  I 
could.1  Lord  Craven  and  his  mother-in-law  were  con- 
tinually quarrelling  in  more  serious  fashion,  Elizabeth 
being  the  usual  subject  of  their  disputes.  '  Lady 
Berkeley,1  she  writes, '  pretended  that  Lord  Craven  spoilt 
me;  and  it  appeared  to  excite  her  envy  when  he  told 
128 


LADY  CRAVEN 

her  that  nothing  was  good  or  great  enough  for  my 
mind  and  person.'  Elizabeth's  chief  fear  was  lest  her 
husband  should  dissipate  his  fine  fortune,  the  whole  of 
which  was  at  his  own  disposal.  He  offered  to  give  her 
half  his  estates,  and  let  her  manage  the  whole,  if  she 
would  pay  him  a  yearly  stipend  ;  but  this  offer,  for- 
tunately for  himself  as  it  turned  out,  she  had  the  sense 
to  refuse. 

During  the  next  few  years  Lady  Craven  was  at  the 
height  of  her  social  celebrity.  Although  she  was  the 
mother  of  several  children,  she  preserved  her  looks, 
and  was  distinguished  both  for  her  beauty  and  her 
accomplishments.  She  is  described  as  having  magni- 
ficent auburn  hair  which  reached  below  her  knees,  fine 
eyes,  and  a  skin  that  showed  every  emotion  by  its 
varying  colour.  Although  she  was  painted  by  Angelica 
Kauffmann,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Romney,  and  Madame 
Vigee  Le  Brun,  she  expresses  her  regret  in  her  later  years 
that  there  was  no  portrait  of  her  that  did  her  justice,  or 
was  even  like  her.  Madame  Le  Brun,  she  complains, 
made  a  hand  and  arm  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
figure,  while  in  the  Romney  portrait  the  face  was  too 
severe  and  the  figure  too  large. 

Among  the  more  interesting  of  Lady  Craven's  friends 
in  London  were  Horace  Walpole,  Johnson,  Garrick, 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Mrs.  Montagu,  Charles  Fox,  Lord 
Thurlow,  and  Wilkes — a  curious  medley.  She  observes 
that  her  godmother,  Lady  Suffolk,  *  does  not  appear  to 
have  been  a  favourite  with  Mr.  Walpole,  although  I 
was  ever  regarded  by  him  with  esteem,  notwithstanding 
that  I  made  her  a  pattern  for  my  manners.  This 
probably  arose  from  the  reluctance  I  always  showed  to 
display  my  natural  love  for  the  Muses ;  yet  the  press  at 
i  129 


LADY  CRAVEN 

Strawberry  Hill  has  produced  some  of  my  poetry.  Mr. 
Walpole  was  extremely  witty  on  the  subject  of  the  three 
children  which  Lady  Berkeley  produced  at  one  birth — 
an  event  which  certainly  was  not  a  theme  for  a  man  of 
taste  and  learning.1  From  Walpole's  own  letters  we 
know  that  he  was  much  attached  to  his  neighbour, 
Lady  Suffolk ;  and  that  although  at  one  time  he  greatly 
admired  Lady  Craven,  he  did  not  always  regard  her 
with  esteem. 

Boswell  mentions  the  fact  of  Johnson's  dining  with 
*  the  beautiful,  gay,  and  fascinating  Lady  Craven.1  She 
tells  us  that  he  recommended  her  a  tutor  for  her  eldest 
son,  and  adds :  '  I  believe  he  would  have  been  the  most 
agreeable  person  in  the  world  if  he  had  had  a  female 
companion  to  suit  him  at  home.  The  great  fault  I 
found  with  Johnson  was  the  inveterate  blame  and  con- 
tempt that  he  threw  on  all  contemporary  writers.  .  .  . 
I  remember  one  day  when  vices  were  the  topic  of  con- 
versation, he  chose  to  defend  drunkenness  as  the  most 
innocent  of  all,  and  to  prove  his  argument  supposed  me 
to  be  walking  in  the  street  and  attacked  by  a  drunken 
man.  He  ended  his  narrative  by  saying, "  She  might 
push  him  into  the  gutter  with  her  little  finger,  and  how 
impossible  it  must  be  for  a  man  to  do  much  mischief 
whom  that  little  finger  could  repel  !  .  .  .11  One  day  in 
a  tete-a-tete,  I  asked  him  why  he  chose  to  do  me  the 
singular  honour  of  sitting  so  often,  and  taking  tea  with 
me — "  I,  who  am  an  ignorant  woman,  and  who,  if  I 
have  any  share  of  wit  or  sense,  am  so  afraid  of  you  that 
my  language  and  thoughts  are  locked  up  and  fade  away 
when  I  speak  to  you  ? "  He  laughed  very  much,  and 
said,  "  An  ignorant  woman  !  The  little  I  have  perceived 
in  your  conversation  pleases  me.11  And  then  with  an 
130 


LADY  CRAVEN 

almost  religious  emphasis,  he  added,  "  I  do  like  you  ! " 
"  And  for  what  ? "  I  asked.  He  put  his  large  hand 
upon  my  arm,  and  with  an  expression  I  shall  never 
forget,  pressed  it,  and  said,  "  Because  you  are  a  good 
mother." ' 

On  another  occasion  Johnson  asked  Reynolds  why 
he  had  refused  to  finish  the  portrait  of  Lady  Craven 
after  she  had  given  him  several  sittings.  Sir  Joshua 
answered,  laughing,  though  somewhat  confused,  *  There 
is  something  so  comical  in  the  lady's  face  that  all  my 
art  cannot  describe  it.1  Johnson  repeated  the  word 
*  comical '  ten  times  in  as  many  different  tones,  finishing 
in  one  of  anger.  Having  decided  that  '  comical '  was 
not  a  fitting  word  to  be  applied  to  a  beautiful  lady's 
face,  he  gave  Reynolds  such  a  scolding  that  the  poor 
painter  must  have  wished  that  he  had  never  seen  his 
embarrassing  sitter. 

Lady  Craven,  who  dabbled  in  authorship  herself,  was 
attracted  by  the  society  of  the  blue-stockings.  Of  Mrs. 
Montagu's  friendship  she  was  particularly  proud,  because 
that  lady  never  spoke  to  any  one  whom  she  did  not  con- 
sider a  person  of  information.  It  was  at  Mrs.  Montagu's 
suggestion  that  Madame  de  Vaucluse,  the  French  novelist, 
who  was  then  living  in  England,  undertook  the  education 
of  Lady  Craven's  four  daughters.  Madame  de  Vaucluse l 
is  reported  to  have  said  of  her  pupils'  mother,  *  J'ai  vu 
les  femmes  plus  belles,  peut-etre ;  mais  pour  sa  physi- 
onomie,  grand  Dieu !  j'ai  lu,  j'ai  ecrit  beaucoup  de 

1  The  adopted  name  of  Mile,  de  Fauques,  an  ex-nun,  who  had  been 
betrayed  and  deserted  by  an  English  'milord.'  She  was  French  instruc- 
tress to  Sir  William  Jones,  and  wrote  a  number  of  tales,  sentimental  and 
Oriental,  as  well  as  a  Life  of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  which  was  bought 
up  by  Louis  XV. 

131 


LADY  CRAVEN 

romans,  mais  elle  les  a  tout  dans  sa  physionomie.'1  Lady 
Craven  tells  us  that  she  introduced  Lord  Thurlow  to 
Madame  de  Vaucluse  at  his  own  special  request,  and  the 
Chancellor  was  so  well  entertained  by  the  Frenchwoman's 
conversation  that  when  he  went  away  he  left  his  bag  and 
seals  behind  him.  With  politics  our  heroine  does  not 
appear  to  have  concerned  herself,  except  that  on  one 
occasion  she  consented  to  drive  through  Coventry,  wear- 
ing blue  ribbons,  in  order  to  quell  an  election  riot,  in 
which  object  she  was  completely  successful.  '  Charles 
Fox,1  she  says,  '  almost  quarrelled  with  me  because  I 
was  unwilling  to  interfere  in  politics — a  thing  which  I 
detested,  and  considered  as  being  out  of  the  province  of 
a  woman.1 

It  is  in  Horace  Walpole's  Letters  that  we  hear  most 
of  Lady  Craven  during  the  period  that  she  shone  in 
London  society,  and  indeed  long  after  her  star  had  set. 
In  a  letter  to  Lady  Ossory,  dated  March  1773,  he 
describes  a  magnificent  fancy-dress  ball  that  had  been 
given  by  that  most  fascinating  of  French  Ambassadors, 
the  Due  de  Guines.  Lady  Craven  danced  in  a  Henri 
Quatre  quadrille,  together  with  the  Princess  Czartoriski, 
the  beautiful  Vernons,  and  the  Due  de  Lauzun  of  scan- 
dalous memory.  The  intimacy  with  the  French  Ambas- 
sador and  his  friends  led,  as  we  shall  see,  to  serious 
consequences  for  our  heroine.  A  couple  of  years  later 
Wai  pole  and  Lady  Craven  were  on  such  terms  of  mutual 
admiration  that  they  were  exchanging  copies  of  compli- 
mentary verses.  He  says  in  a  letter  to  Lady  Ossory  : 
'  I  certainly  did  not  send  you  Lady  Craven's  verses,  nor 
intend  it,  though  they  are  extremely  pretty.  She  did 
not  give  me  leave,  and  without  it,  you  know  I  would 
not.  Nay,  I  don't  think  I  should  even  with  her  per- 
132 


LADY  CRAVEN 

mission,  for  she  makes  an  Apollo  of  me  ;  and  if  the  eight 
other  Muses  called  me  so  too,  I  would  not  accept  the 
title  without  any  pretensions.' 

Walpole,  then  nearly  sixty,  was  evidently  flattered  by 
her  ladyship's  attentions  ;  for  in  February  1776  he  writes 
to  Mason  :  '  I  shall  take  the  liberty  (Sir  Residentiary)  to 
trespass  on  your  decorum  by  sending  you  an  impromptu 
I  wrote  yesterday  to  pretty  Lady  Craven,  who  sent  me 
an  Eclogue  of  her  own,  every  stanza  of  which  ended  with 
January,  and  which  she  desired  me  not  to  criticise,  as 
some  of  the  rhymes  were  incorrect,  a  license  I  adopted  in 
my  second  line — 

"  Though  lame  and  old,  I  do  not  burn 

With  fretfulness  to  scare  ye  ; 
And  charms  and  wit  like  yours  would  turn 

To  May  my  January. 
The  God  who  can  inspire  and  heal 

Sure  breathed  your  lines,  sweet  Fairy, 
For  as  I  read,  1  feel,  I  feel, 

I'm  not  quite  January." 

Probably  you  would  have  liked  better  to  have  the 
Eclogue,  but  I  had  not  leave  to  send  it.' 

The  Strawberry  Hill  press  was  presently  called  into 
requisition  to  print  some  of  Lady  Craven's  works.  In 
August  1778,  Walpole  has  just  printed  seventy-five 
copies  of  The  Sleep-walker,  a  translation  by  Lady  Craven 
of  a  comedy  of  Pont  de  Veyle.  In  1780  Lady  Craven 
wrote  a  story,  with  a  flattering  dedication  l  to  Horace 

'After  observing  that  at  Christmas  he  is  generally  confined  to  his  fire- 
side by  an  unwelcome  visitor  (the  gout),  and  therefore  may  be  entertained 
by  a  new  book,  since  he  has  read  all  the  old  ones,  she  continues :  '  Among 
many  foolish  but  true  things  you  have  heard  me  say,  I  once  expressed 
a  wish  to  be  learned,  and  acknowledged  that  I  was  igttorance  itself;  and 
to  encourage  that  ignorance  you  once  advised  me:  "Despise  what  is 
called  learning,  give  a  loose  to  your  imagination,  correct  by  your  heart, 
and  profit  by  your  taste."  ' 

133 


LADY  CRAVEN 

Walpole,  called  Modern  Anecdotes  of  the  Family  of 
Kinkverankotspraclcengotchern.  In  a  letter  to  Lady 
Ossory  he  says  :  '  I  send  your  ladyship,  as  you  order, 
Lady  Craven's  novel,  which  is,  being  very  short,  full  of 
one  long  name,  but  not  of  long  names.  It  is  scarce  a 
story,  and  I  am  told  is  a  translation ;  but  it  is  very 
prettily  told,  and  has,  I  will  swear,  several  original 
expressions  that  are  characteristic  and  must  be  her  own. 
There  is  no  mystery  or  secret  about  it,  except  that  it 
was  one  to  me  for  twenty-four  hours,  being  sent  to  me 
anonymously,  and  I  was  all  that  time  before  I  guessed 
the  author.  The  reason  of  my  not  naming  it,  madam, 
you  will  find  in  my  character,  which  abhors  anything 
that  looks  like  vanity.1 

In  May  of  the  same  year  Lady  Craven  wrote  a  play 
called  The  Miniature  Portrait.  According  to  her  own 
account,  Sheridan  got  possession  of  it  under  pretence  of 
writing  an  epilogue  for  it ;  and  then,  without  permission, 
brought  it  out  at  Drury  Lane,  where  it  was  played  for 
three  nights.  Although  she  professed  to  be  enraged  at 
Sheridan's  audacity,  Lady  Craven  attended  one  of  the 
representations  in  state.  Walpole  gives  an  amusing 
description  of  the  affair  in  a  letter  to  Mason.  '  There 
has  been  such  an  uncommon  event,'  he  begins,  '  that  I 
must  give  you  some  account  of  it,  as  it  relates  to  the 
Republic  of  Poetry,  of  which  you  are  President,  and  to 
the  Aristocracy  of  Noble  Authors,  to  whom  I  am  Gentle- 
man Usher.  Lady  Craven's  comedy,  called  The  Miniature 
Picture,  which  she  acted  herself  with  a  genteel  set  at  her 
own  house  in  the  country,  has  been  played  at  Drury 
Lane.  The  chief  singularity  was  that  she  went  to  it 
herself  the  second  night  in  form ;  sat  in  the  middle  of 
the  front  row  of  the  stage-box,  much  dressed,  with  a 
134 


LADY  CRAVEN 

profusion  of  white  bugles  and  plumes  to  receive  the 
public  honour  due  to  her  sex  and  loveliness.  The 
Duchess  of  Richmond,  Lady  Harcourt,  Lady  Edgecumbe, 
Lady  Aylesbury,  Mrs.  Darner,  Lord  Craven,  General 
Conway,  Colonel  (THara,  and  I  were  with  her.  It  was 
amazing  to  see  so  young  a  woman  entirely  possess  her- 
self; but  there  is  such  an  integrity  and  frankness  in  her 
consciousness  of  her  own  beauty  and  talents,  that  she 
speaks  of  them  with  a  naivete  as  if  she  had  no  property  in 
them,  but  only  wore  them  as  gifts  of  the  gods.  Lord 
Craven,  on  the  contrary,  was  quite  agitated  by  his  fond- 
ness for  her,  and  with  impatience  at  the  bad  performance 
of  the  actors,  which  was  wretched  indeed.  Yet  the 
address  of  the  plot,  which  is  the  chief  merit  of  the  piece, 
and  some  lively  pencilling,  carried  it  off  very  well,  though 
Parsons  murdered  the  Scotch  lord,  and  Mrs.  Robinson 
[Perdita],  who  is  supposed  to  be  the  favourite  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  thought  on  nothing  but  her  charms  or 
him.  There  is  a  very  good  though  endless  Prologue, 
written  by  Sheridan,  and  spoken  in  perfection  by  King, 
which  was  encored  (an  entire  novelty)  the  first  night ; 
and  an  Epilogue  that  I  liked  still  better,  and  which 
was  full  as  well  delivered  by  Mrs.  Abington,  written  by 
Mr.  Jekyll. 

4  The  audience,  though  very  civil,  missed  a  fair  oppor- 
tunity of  being  gallant ;  for  in  one  of  these logues, 

I  forget  which,  the  noble  authoress  was  mentioned,  and 
they  did  not  applaud,  as  they  ought  to  have  done  exceed- 
ingly, when  she  condescended  to  avow  her  pretty  child, 
and  was  there  looking  so  very  pretty.  I  could  not  help 
thinking  how  many  deaths  Lady  Harcourt  would  have 
suffered  rather  than  encounter  such  an  exhibition ;  yet 
Lady  Craven's  tranquillity  had  nothing  displeasing — it 

135 


LADY  CRAVEN 

was  only  the  ease  that  conscious  pre-eminence  bestows  on 
Sovereigns,  whether  their  empire  consists  in  power  or 
beauty.  It  was  the  ascendant  of  Millamont  and  Lady 
Betty  Modish  and  Indamore ;  and  it  was  tempered  by 
her  infinite  good-nature,  which  made  her  make  excuses 
for  the  actors  instead  of  being  provoked  at  them.  I 
have  brought  hither  her  portrait  [by  Romney]  and 
placed  it  in  the  favourite  Blue  Room.1 

One  cannot  help  reflecting  how  scornful  and  sarcastic 
Walpole  would  have  been  over  the  whole  incident  if  Lady 
Craven  had  been  plain,  middle-aged,  and  insignificant, 
instead  of  a  beauty  and  a  great  lady.  As  it  was,  her 
accomplishments  and  her  attractions,  combined  with  her 
appreciation  of  himself,  roused  him  to  a  quite  unusual 
pitch  of  enthusiasm.  On  the  Romney  portrait,  with 
which  the  original  was  so  dissatisfied,  he  wrote  the 
following  lines  : — 

( Full  many  an  artist  has  on  canvas  fix'd 
All  charms  that  Nature's  pencil  ever  mix'd, 
The  witching  of  her  eyes,  the  grace  that  tips 
The  inexpressible  douceur  of  her  lips  : 
Romney  alone  in  this  fair  image  caught 
Each  charm's  expression  and  each  feature's  thought ; 
And  shows  how  in  their  sweet  assembly  sit 
Taste,  spirit,  softness,  sentiment,  and  wit.' 

Walpole  certainly  did  his  best  as  log-roller  to  the 
lady  whom  Lord  Strafford  called  his  Sappho.  In  another 
letter  to  Mason  he  says :  '  Pray  read  a  little  book,  no 
bigger  than  a  silver  penny,  called  a  Christmas-box,  for 
me — yes,  for  me.  It  is  a  story  that  is  no  story,  or 
scarce  one  ;  it  is  a  sort  of  imitation  of  Voltaire,  yet  per- 
fectly original.  There  is  nature,  character,  simplicity, 
and  carelessness  throughout ;  observation  without  preten- 
136 


ELIZABETH  BERKELEY,  COUNTESS  OF  CRAVEN. 


FROM   THB    ORIGINAL  FORMERLY  AT  STTi-1 •  '• 


LADY  CRAVEN 

sions,  and  I  believe  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  some  of  the 
incidents,  that  I  take  to  have  happened.  My  vanity 
may  have  interested  me  too  much,  though  I  see  it  as  a 
thing  not  likely  to  please ;  but  if  you  read  it  twice, 
which  its  brevity  will  easily  allow,  I  think  you  will  see 
real  merit  in  it,  especially  when  you  know  the  author  is 
young.' 

In  1779,  Lady  Craven's  youngest  son,  Richard  Keppel, 
was  born.  One  of  his  godfathers  was  Admiral  Keppel, 
then  at  the  height  of  his  national  popularity.  The 
christening  took  place  just  after  the  court-martial  which 
the  Admiral  had  insisted  on  having  in  consequence  of 
the  criticisms  upon  his  operations  against  the  Brest  fleet. 
The  whole  of  London  went  wild  with  delight  over  the 
justificatory  verdict;  the  town  was  illuminated  for  three 
nights ;  and  on  the  evening  of  the  baby  Keppel's  christen- 
ing Lady  Craven's  porter  was  unable  to  close  the  hall 
door  between  half-past  seven  and  half-past  eleven  in 
consequence  of  the  fashionable  crowds  who  came  to  offer 
their  congratulations  to  her  and  the  famous  godfather. 
The  result  of  all  this  fatigue  and  excitement  was  that 
the  mother  was  taken  ill  with  a  kind  of  fit  and  lost  her 
speech  for  several  hours.  She  was  repeatedly  attacked 
in  this  way,  until  at  last  she  was  ordered  to  Bristol,  only 
as  it  was  supposed  to  die.  While  she  was  at  Bristol 
the  famous  Jenner  came  to  pay  his  respects  to  her,  and 
had  the  courage  to  inform  Lord  Craven  that  in  his 
opinion  the  invalid  was  being  wrongly  treated.  He 
received  permission  to  undertake  her  treatment  himself, 
attended  her  to  Combe  Abbey,  and  did  not  leave  her 
until  she  was  in  a  fair  way  of  recovery. 

The  following  winter  Lady  Craven  made  the  un- 
pleasant discovery  that,  when  her  husband  told  her  that 

137 


LADY  CRAVEN 

he  was  going  into  the  country  to  hunt,  he  actually  re- 
mained in  London,  though  not  in  his  own  house.  The 
mystery  was  explained  by  the  fact  that  he  had  formed  an 
attachment  for  a  married  woman,  living  apart  from  her 
husband,  who  had  obtained  a  great  influence  over  him. 
Lady  Craven  took  no  notice  of  the  affair  until  Lord 
Macartney  called  upon  her  to  beg  that  she  would  try 
and  prevent  her  husband  from  travelling  in  one  of  her 
own  coaches  with  a  woman  who  called  herself  Lady 
Craven,  and  conducted  herself  in  such  a  fashion  as  to 
tarnish  the  character  of  the  real  owner  of  the  name. 
'  If  Lord  Berkeley  hears  of  this,'  added  Lord  Macartney, 
'  he  will  certainly  call  Lord  Craven  out.1  As  soon  as 
his  lordship  returned  to  his  home,  his  wife  told  him  that 
she  had  a  favour  to  ask  of  him,  namely,  that  he  would 
not  allow  his  mistress  to  call  herself  Lady  Craven.  '  He 
looked  much  confused,'  she  continues,  '  and  asked  how 
long  I  had  known  that  he  had  a  mistress.  I  replied, 
"  Above  a  twelvemonth,"  whereupon  he  exclaimed,  "  By 
G — ,  you  are  the  best-tempered  creature  in  the 
world,  for  I  have  never  suspected  that  you  knew  this." ' 
Further  remonstrances,  and  a  threat  of  separation,  only 
served  to  exasperate  Lord  Craven,  who,  after  assuring 
his  wife  that  her  rival  was  '  a  very  good  sort  of  woman,' 
departed  with  the  lady  for  a  six  weeks'  tour  on  the 
Continent. 

The  quarrel  seems  to  have  been  patched  up  for  the 
time  being;  for  in  April  1782  Walpole  mentions 
having  been  present  at  '  a  kind  of  pastoral  opera  written 
by  Lady  Craven,  and  acted  prettily  by  her  own  and 
other  children ;  you  will  scold  me  again  for  not  telling 
you  the  title,  but  in  truth  I  forgot  to  ask  it.  There 
was  imagination  in  it,  but  not  enough  to  carry  off  five 
138 


LADY  CRAVEN 

acts.  The  Chancellor  [Thurlow]  j  was  there  en  titre 
(Toffice^  not  as  head  of  the  law,  but  as  cicisbeo  to  the 
authoress, — his  countenance  is  so  villainous  that  he 
looked  more  like  assassin  to  the  husband.  Lady  Har- 
court  said  he  wanted  nothing  but  a  red  coat  and  a  black 
wig  to  resemble  the  murderers  in  Macbeth."1 

The  following  Christmas,  when  the  family  were  at 
Combe  Abbey  for  the  holidays,  Lord  Craven  suddenly 
informed  his  wife  that  he  was  going  to  London,  and 
added,  '  When  I  go,  I  shall  never  see  your  face  again.' 
To  this  startling  announcement  she  answered,  '  That  is, 
you  mean  to  part  with  me.'  Upon  his  assenting,  she 
observed  :  '  The  parting  of  a  husband  and  wife  who  have 
lived  together  thirteen  years,  and  had  seven  children, 
and  the  fortunes  of  those  children  at  the  mercy  of  a 
father  misled,  is  a  thing  of  too  great  consequence  to 
those  children  for  me  not  to  take  the  best  advice  on 
such  an  event.'  Lord  Craven  set  out  for  London  next 
day,  and  his  wife  never  saw  him  again.  She  remained 
to  entertain  the  visitors  who  had  been  invited  to  spend 
Christmas  at  the  Castle ;  but  as  soon  as  these  had 
departed,  she  too  went  to  town,  and  sent  for  her  eldest 
brother.  Lord  Berkeley  declined  to  give  her  any  advice 
until  he  had  heard  Lord  Craven's  reason  for  parting 
with  her.  When  she  assured  him  that  she  had  done 
nothing  to  cause  her  husband  the  slightest  uneasiness, 
*  Lord  Berkeley  turned  his  back  and  walked  out  of 
the  room.' 

Her  next  step  was  to  consult  Lord  Loughborough,2 
then  Lord  Chancellor,  who  flew  into  a  passion  with 

1  Thurlow  was  then  in  his  fifty-second  year. 

2  The  Great  Seal  was  then  in  commission,  but  Loughborough  was  first 
commissioner. 

139 


LADY  CRAVEN 

Lord  Craven,  and  declared  that  the  man  must  be  mad. 
He  advised  her  to  prosecute  her  husband,  and  assured 
her  that  the  law  would  allow  her  four  or  five  thousand 
a  year,  and  the  society  of  her  daughters.  Being  reluctant 
to  take  such  an  extreme  step,  Lady  Craven  next  sent  for 
her  old  friend  and  admirer,  Lord  Thurlow,  and  told  him 
she  understood  that  if  she  were  to  prosecute  her  husband, 
she  would  obtain  redress.  '  Redress  ! '  exclaimed  Lord 
Thurlow,  '  for  what  ?  The  man  does  injury  to  himself. 
But,  tell  me,  is  it  true  that  Lord  Craven  has  the  whole 
of  his  large  fortune  at  his  own  disposal  ? '  Being 
informed  that  he  had,  Lord  Thurlow  asked  whether 
she  would  ever  forgive  herself  if  she  did  not  make  every 
effort  to  preserve  that  fortune  for  her  seven  children,  as 
she  had  none  to  give  them  herself ;  and  pointed  out 
that,  as  Lord  Craven  had  placed  himself  in  her  power  by 
his  folly,  he  must  give  her  at  least  her  marriage  settle- 
ment. He  then  suggested  that  she  should  go  where 
she  pleased,  taking  one,  at  least,  of  her  children  with 
her ;  but  added,  '  Leave  your  daughters  with  your  Lord  ; 
otherwise  that  woman  will  go  and  live  in  all  your  fine 
places,  and  gain  the  entire  and  unlimited  ascendency 
over  Lord  Craven's  mind."1  This  advice  was  so  far 
followed  that  Lady  Craven  decided  to  go  to  Paris  for 
a  time,  taking  the  three-year-old  Keppel  with  her. 
Before  setting  out,  a  promise  was  obtained  from  Lord 
Craven  that  her  other  children  should  write  to  her  once 
a  fortnight,  and  that  when  she  returned  to  England 
she  should  be  allowed  to  see  them  when  and  where  she 
pleased.  She  undertook,  on  her  part,  to  deliver  up 
Keppel  to  his  father  as  soon  as  he  was  eight  years  old. 

So  far  we  have  followed  Lady  Craven's  own  account 
of   the   circumstances    that    led   to   her   separation,   in 
140 


LADY  CRAVEN 

which  she  poses  as  a  deeply  injured  wife.  She  professes 
to  be  famous  for  her  veracity,  and  relates  how  when 
George  in.  wanted  to  know  the  truth  about  any  Court 
gossip,  he  used  to  ask,  '  What  does  Lady  Craven  say  ? 
She  always  speaks  the  truth.1  But  in  the  matter  of  her 
separation  it  is  to  be  feared  that  Lady  Craven  allowed 
herself  a  little  licence.  At  any  rate,  her  contemporaries 
seem  to  have  thought  that  Lord  Craven  had  some  cause 
for  his  apparent  harshness.  The  Due  de  Lauzun,  who 
was  in  London  in  1773,  says  in  his  Memoirs  that  at  this 
time  the  Due  de  Guines  was  openly  the  lover  of  '  une 
jolie  petite  femme,  que  sa  fatuite  et  les  malheurs 
qu^elle  a  pense  causer,  ont  rendu  celebre  a  TAngleterre. 
Douce,  simple,  tendre,  il  etait  impossible  de  voir  Lady 
Craven  sans  s'y  interesser.'  His  folly  and  her  imprudence 
led  to  a  scandal ;  Lord  Craven  shut  up  his  wife  in  the 
country,  and  threatened  to  bring  an  action  against  de 
Guines,  and  claim  £10,000  in  damages.  The  Due  de 
Lauzun  and  his  belle  amie,  the  Princess  Czartoriski,  did 
their  best  to  help  the  foolish  pair.  De  Guines  had 
asked  Lady  Craven  to  fly  with  him,  and  his  career  de- 
pended on  her  reply.  The  Ambassador  had  recently 
been  involved  in  a  vexatious  lawsuit  against  his  secretary, 
and  his  appearance  in  a  fresh  cause  celebre  would  have 
been  most  damaging  to  an  already  tarnished  reputation. 
The  Princess  Czartoriski  forced  her  way  to  Lady  Craven, 
advised  her  how  to  act,  and  for  the  time  being  saved 
the  situation. 

In  her  Autobiography  Lady  Craven  alludes  to  M.  de 
Guines — who  was  recalled  to  France  in  1776 — in  the 
most  unembarrassed  fashion.  She  observes  that  he  had 
one  habit  which  made  her  watch  and  fear  him,  namely, 
that  of  appearing  to  admire  great  powers  only  to  draw 


LADY  CRAVEN 

them  out,  and  turn  them  to  his  own  advantage.  In 
private  life  he  was  a  delightful  companion,  and  one  of 
the  best  flute-players  of  his  day.  He  was  anxious  to 
learn  English,  and  insisted  that  Lady  Craven  should 
converse  with  him  in  that  language  ;  but  his  mistakes, 
whether  purposely  or  not,  were  so  inconvenantes  that  she 
was  obliged  to  ask  him  to  confine  himself  to  his  own 
tongue.  '  At  the  time  of  the  Revolution,1  she  relates, 
'  I  saw  this  nobleman  in  Paris,  without  a  sou  to  live  on, 
cherished  by  Madame  de  Boufflers  and  other  old  friends. 
His  despair  at  seeing  Royalty  and  the  nobility  crushed 
was  so  great  that  he  would  no  longer  trouble  himself 
about  anything.' 

Although  de  Guines  was  in  England  with  his  family 
in  1783,  it  does  not  appear  that  his  presence  contri- 
buted to  the  Craven  separation.  As  usual,  we  must  turn 
to  Strawberry  Hill  for  the  floating  gossip  of  the  time. 
In  a  letter  to  his  niece,  the  Duchess  of  Gloucester,  dated 
March  13,  1783,  Walpole  writes:  'You  must  have 
seen  in  the  papers  much  gross  abuse  of  a  pretty 
ingenious  friend  of  mine  for  a  low  amour  with  one  of 
her  own  servants,  for  which  I  seriously  believe  there  was 
not  the  smallest  foundation.  The  charge  is  now  re- 
moved to  much  higher  quarters,  which,  at  least,  are 
more  creditable.  The  town  has  for  these  ten  days 
affirmed  that  the  Lord  husband  was  going  to  cite  into 
the  Spiritual  Court  the  head  of  the  Temporal  one — 
nay,  and  the  third  chief  of  the  Common  Law — nay, 
and  the  second  of  the  Spiritual  one  too.1  Such  con- 
quests would  be  very  honourable  in  the  records  of  Love, 

1  Presumably  Lord  Thurlow,  Lord  Loughborough,  and  the  Archbishop 
of  York,  whom  Mason  alludes  to  as  Lady  Craven's  '  lawn-sleeved  Phaon ' 
(Dec.  4,  1782). 

142 


LADY  CRAVEN 

and  the  first  very  diverting,  as  the  hero  has  so  much 
distinguished  himself  by  severity  on  Bills  of  divorce.  I 
do  not  warrant  any  of  these  stories,  but  must  totally 
discredit  that  of  the  domestic.  A  prude  may  begin 
with  a  footman,  and  a  gallant  woman  may  end  with 
one ;  but  a  pretty  woman  who  has  so  many  slaves  in 
high  life  does  not  think  of  a  livery,  especially  where 
vanity  is  the  principal  ingredient  in  her  composition.' 

Lady  Craven  spent  the  early  part  of  1783  in  Paris, 
or  rather  at  Versailles,  where  she  took  a  house  called 
the  Pavilion  de  la  Joncherre.  She  professes  to  have 
been  well  received ;  but  it  appears  that  she  was  not 
invited  to  the  weekly  receptions  given  by  the  Duchesse 
de  Polignac,  who  had  an  allowance  from  the  Queen  for 
the  purpose  of  entertaining  distinguished  foreigners. 
Lady  Craven  attributes  the  slight  to  jealousy,  and  says 
that  the  Duke  of  Dorset,  the  English  Ambassador,  told 
her  that  Madame  de  Polignac  had  tormented  him  with 
questions  about  his  countrywomen.  In  answer  to  her 
queries — 'Est-elle  aussi  jolie — a-t-elle  autant  d'esprit 
que  le  monde  dit  ? '  he  replied,  *  We  have  twenty  women 
at  Court  more  beautiful  than  Lady  Craven ;  mais  pour 
les  graces  et  Tesprit,  pas  une.' 

Lady  Craven  asserts  that  the  Queen  and  her  sister-in- 
law,  Madame  Elizabeth,  were  anxious  that  she  should 
settle  at  Versailles  in  order  that  they  might  visit  her 
as  a  friend.  With  this  end  in  view  they  are  supposed 
to  have  set  the  Court  milliner  to  spy  upon  her,  pre- 
sumably that  they  might  satisfy  themselves  as  to  her 
mode  of  life.  The  milliner  inquired  the  name  of  a 
gentleman  who  visited  regularly  at  the  Pavilion  de  la 
Joncherre ;  and  Lady  Craven,  without  resenting  this 
curiosity,  replied  that  it  was  the  Margrave  of  Anspach, 

143 


LADY  CRAVEN 

and  explained  that  '  he  had  known  me  from  my  child- 
hood, and  had  conceived  for  me  the  same  partiality 
that  all  who  had  known  me  from  my  infancy  retained 
for  me.' 

On  one  occasion,  when  Lady  Craven  and  her  child 
were  in  the  chapel  at  Versailles,  Marie  Antoinette  and 
her  sister-in-law  passed  by ;  •  and  being  struck  by  the 
beauty  of  the  little  Keppel,  sent  to  inquire  who  he  was. 
On  their  return  the  Royal  ladies  stopped  opposite  Lady 
Craven,  and  curtseying  repeatedly,  said,  '  Restez  avec 
nous,  Madame.1  Our  heroine  was  looked  askance  upon 
by  her  own  countrywomen,  judging  by  a  sentence  in  a 
letter  dated  March  1783  from  Lady  Bristol  to  her 
daughter,  Lady  Elizabeth  Foster,  who  was  then  staying 
in  Paris.  '  You  don't  mention  Lady  Craven,'  says  the 
writer,  'so  I  hope  she  is  gone  some  other  way.  You 
must  have  no  intercourse  there  at  all.  She  is  quite 
undone,  and  has  not  an  atom  of  character  left.1 

In  the  circumstances,  it  is  rather  curious  that  Lady 
Craven's  younger  brother,  Captain  Berkeley,  together 
with  his  wife  and  her  mother,  Lady  Louisa  Lennox, 
should  have  stayed  at  the  Pavilion  on  their  way  to  the 
south  of  France.  In  the  course  of  the  summer  Lord 
Berkeley  wrote  to  propose  that  he  should  meet  his  sister 
in  Florence  the  following  November,  and  spend  the 
winter  with  her.  '  My  brother,'  she  tells  us,  '  had  ever 
given  but  one  reason  for  refusing  to  marry ;  he  said  he 
would  never  marry  until  he  could  find  a  woman  like  me 
in  temper  and  talents.  Unfortunately,  the  woman  he 
did  marry  was  unlike  me  in  every  respect.'  Flattered 
by  her  brother's  desire  for  her  companionship,  Lady 
Craven  placed  her  little  boy  with  a  tutor  in  Paris,  and 
set  out  upon  her  travels  alone.  She  corresponded 
144 


LADY  CRAVEN 

regularly  during  this  time  with  the  Margrave,  who  had 
invited  her  to  come  and  live  at  his  Court  as  soon  as  she 
was  tired  of  wandering,  in  the  character  of  his  adopted 
sister.  In  her  letters  she  addresses  him  as  her  '  dear 
brother,1  and  signs  herself  '  your  affectionate  sister.1 

Two  editions  of  Lady  Craven's  Correspondence  with 
the  Margrave  were  published:  the  first  in  1789;  the 
second,  which  is  rather  fuller,  in  1812.  The  Letters 
were  translated  into  French  and  German,  and  highly 
praised  by  Grimm,  who  was  also  a  correspondent  of  the 
Margrave's.  For  the  modern  reader  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
they  would  have  few  attractions,  since  they  are  neither 
well  written  nor  amusing,  nor  even  indiscreet,  while  the 
information  they  contain  is  extracted,  for  the  most  part, 
from  guide-books  or  works  of  reference.  Their  only 
merit  arises  from  the  fact  that  the  writer,  who  had 
evidently  taken  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  for  her 
model,  travelled  in  such  out-of-the-way  regions  as  the 
Crimea,  Turkey,  the  Grecian  Islands,  and  Wallachia, 
whither  few  English  ladies  had  ever  penetrated.  Lady 
Craven  must  be  credited  with  a  large  allowance  of 
courage  and  enterprise ;  but  it  is  a  pity  that  a  lady  who 
was  famed  for  her  vivacity  of  spirits  and  brilliant  con- 
versational powers  should  not  have  contrived  to  be  more 
amusing  on  paper. 

PART    II 

LADY  CRAVEN'S  first  published  letter  to  the  Margrave 
is  dated  Paris,  June  1785,  and  begins : — 

'For   the    first  time  in  my  life,  sir,  I  invoke  that 
guardian   angel   who  has   hitherto   protected    me   from 
many  a  precipice,  into  which  female  vanity  might  have 
K  145 


LADY  CRAVEN 

hurled  me  headlong,  to  preserve  me  from  that  inordi- 
nate pride  which  I  must  feel  if  I  believe  half  what  you 
are  pleased  to  say.  You  call  me  increduk,  insouciante. 
Oh,  I  am  neither.  I  do  believe  you  think  all  you  say 
of  me.  I  will  be  your  sister;  and  by  accepting  of  your 
adoption  prove  to  you  that  I  also  believe  what  you  say 
to  me.  I  will  indeed  be  your  sister ;  but  let  me  show 
the  world,  the  envious  world,  I  deserve  to  be  so.  I 
cannot  reside  at  Anspach  unless  the  Margravine  con- 
sents, approves  of  it,  and  thinks,  as  you  say,  your  sister's 
graces  would  gild  with  charms — would  cheer,  like  the 
sun,  the  gloomy  darkness  of  a  German  Court.' 

Having  given  her  own  version  of  her  relations  with 
her  husband,  Lady  Craven  proceeds  to  retail  a  little  of 
the  Parisian  gossip  of  the  day.  Her  old  admirer,  the 
Due  de  Guines,  had  just  called  upon  her  to  inquire  the 
names  of  all  the  English  heiresses  who  were  marriageable, 
because  the  Duchesse  de  Polignac  thought  of  giving  a 
rich  English  heiress  to  her  son.  Lady  Craven  says  she 
gravely  suggested  that  the  Duchess  should  go  to  Eng- 
land, and  choose  which  of  the  great  heiresses  then  in 
society  she  would  give  to  her  son,  '  and  one  of  the  most 
Jins  persifleurs  I  ever  saw  did  not  perceive  that  I  was 
laughing  at  him.1  The  Morning  Post,  after  its  custom 
at  that  time,  had  been  making  free  with  Lady  Craven's 
name ;  and  she  observes,  a  propos  of  its  delinquencies,  that 
the  liberty  of  the  press  is  but  another  word  for  the  most 
profligate  licentiousness,  and  utters  a  pious  wish  that 
her  brother  would  cut  off  some  newsmonger's  nose.  '  The 
vulgar  English '  in  Paris  had  also  been  spreading  tales 
about  her  manner  of  life,  and  she  is  both  surprised  and 
hurt  that  the  Duchesse  de  Polignac  does  not  invite  her 
to  her  parties.  Her  faithful  admirer,  Lord  Thurlow, 
146 


LADY  CRAVEN 

had  lately  paid  a  first  visit  to  Paris,  and,  John  Bull- 
like,  had  refused  to  see  anything  beautiful  in  the  environs, 
declaring  that  the  country  round  was  nothing  but  a 
great  stone  quarry.  She  concludes  with  the  expression 
of  her  belief  that  Providence  had  decreed  that  Lord 
Craven  should  part  with  her  in  order  that  she  might 
cheer  the  setting  sun  of  the  Margrave's  life  [he  was  then 
forty-nine],  the  only  man  in  whom  she  had  not  found  an 
inclination  to  despise  the  other  sex. 

The  first  part  of  Lady  Craven's  travels  over  the  well- 
beaten  tracks  of  France  and  Italy  contains  little  that  is 
either  novel  or  interesting.  She  travelled  with  her  own 
chariot  and  saddle-horse,  and  at  Genoa  took  the  some- 
what unusual  course  of  hiring  a  felucca,  with  three 
shoulder-of-mutton  sails  and  ten  oars,  to  take  her  to 
Leghorn.  But  finding  the  boat  alive  with  vermin,  and 
getting  bored  with  the  singing  of  the  sailors,  who 
chanted  the  Hymn  to  the  Virgin  for  hours  at  a  stretch, 
she  landed  at  Via  Regie,  and  rode  to  Pisa,  where  she 
hired  a  house  for  a  few  weeks.  Both  horse  and  rider 
created  wonder  and  admiration  in  the  minds  of  the 
simple  Italians.  Not  being  accustomed  to  the  sight  of 
a  lady  riding  on  a  side-saddle,  the  people  used  to 
exclaim,  '  Poor  thing  !  Only  one  leg  ! '  as  she  passed. 
*  An  English  person  in  Italy,'  says  Lady  Craven,  '  meets 
with  a  homage  little  short  of  adoration.  The  very 
peasants  look  in  my  face  and  say,  "  Cara — cara  Inglese." ' 
For  her  fine  Suffolk  horse  she  was  offered,  over  and  over 
again,  any  price  she  liked  to  ask ;  but,  as  she  said,  more 
truly  perhaps  than  she  intended,  '  A  good  woman's  horse 
is  so  difficult  to  be  had,  that  I  can't  think  how  anybody 
can  part  with  one.' 

From  Pisa  Lady  Craven  went  on  to  Florence,  where 

147 


LADY  CRAVEN 

her  arrival  had  been  heralded  by  a  letter  from  Walpole 
to  Sir  Horace  Mann,  dated  October  30,  1785,  in  which 
the  lord  of  Strawberry  Hill  says  :  '  I  did  send  you  a 
line  last  week  in  the  cover  of  a  letter  to  Lady  Craven, 
which  I  knew  would  sufficiently  tell  your  quickness  how 
much  I  shall  be  obliged  to  you  for  any  attentions  to 
her.  I  thought  her  at  Paris,  and  was  surprised  to  hear 
of  her  at  Florence.  She  has  been,  I  fear,  infinitamente 
indiscreet ;  but  what  is  that  to  you  or  me  ?  She  is  very 
pretty,  has  parts,  and  is  good-natured  to  the  greatest 
degree ;  has  not  a  grain  of  malice  or  mischief  (almost 
always  the  associates,  in  women,  of  tender  hearts),  and 
has  never  been  an  enemy  but  to  herself.' 

Lady  Craven  was  delighted  with  Florence,  and  more 
especially  with  the  Tribune.  She  declares  that  she 
thinks  and  dreams  of  nothing  but  the  pictures  and 
statues ;  and  if  she  had  no  children,  would  be  tempted  to 
spend  the  rest  of  her  days  in  the  Tribune,  where  the 
vulgar  idle  tales  of  real  life  never  came  to  her  mind. 
The  Florentine  ladies  she  thought  very  like  the  English, 
and  found  them  more  good-natured  than  the  French,  as 
they  did  not  whisper  or  criticise  their  own  sex.  Sir 
Horace  Mann,  usually  so  civil  to  travellers  who  brought 
introductions  from  Walpole,  does  not  seem  to  have 
impressed  her  very  favourably.  She  says  that  he 
grumbles  at  the  follies  of  the  young  Englishmen  who 
passed  through  Florence  on  the  Grand  Tour,  without 
making  any  effort  to  help  or  influence  them.  The 
Grand  Duke,  at  this  time,  kept  no  court,  but  any 
person  of  suitable  rank  could  be  presented  to  him. 
Lady  Craven,  with  unusual  prudence,  refrained  from 
asking  the  Minister  to  introduce  her  into  the  royal 
circle,  observing  that  *  if  sovereigns  hide  their  light  in 
148 


LADY  CRAVEN 

corners,  strangers  are  foolish  to  go  and  seek  them 
out.' 

Lord  Berkeley  failed  to  keep  his  promise  to  meet  his 
sister  in  Florence.  It  was  in  this  year  that  he  began 
his  connection  with  Miss  Coles,  whom  he  married  in 
1796.  His  assertion  that  he  had  gone  through  the 
ceremony  with  her  in  March  1785  led,  after  his  death 
in  1810,  to  the  Berkeley  cause  celebre.  The  eldest  son 
William,  born  in  1786,  presented  a  petition  to  the 
Crown  for  a  writ  of  summons  as  Earl  Berkeley ;  but 
doubts  having  arisen  as  to  the  alleged  first  marriage, 
the  petition  was  referred  to  the  House  of  Lords,  who 
decided  that  the  petitioner  had  not  substantiated  his 
claims. 

Lady  Craven,  being  disappointed  by  her  brother, 
decided  to  go  further  afield,  and  see  courts  and  people 
that  few  women  had  ever  seen.  She  set  her  face  north- 
ward ;  and  passing  through  Venice,  travelled  to  Vienna, 
where,  if  we  may  trust  her  own  account,  she  was  made 
much  of  in  Court  circles.  Of  Sir  Robert  Keith,  our 
English  Minister,  she  writes  :  He  is  lively,  sensible,  and 
polite,  and  behaves  like  a  friend  and  brother  to  all  the 
thoughtless  young  Englishmen.  As  to  me,  a  few  hours 
after  my  arrival  he  came  to  me,  and  with  a  gay  sort  of 
delight,  he  rubbed  his  hands,  saying,  "  At  last  I  have 
an  Englishwoman — a  Peeress — they  will  see  what  an 
English  Peeress  is — ought  to  be,"  he  added.  "  Nay,  don't 
think  I  am  flattering,  you  want  no  foil ;  but  if  you  did, 
I  have  only  had  two  countrywomen  here ;  one  good,  to 
be  sure,  but  silent  and  inanimate  as  a  statue ;  the  other 

a  fury.  Now,  indeed '  Sir  Robert's  only  anxiety 

was  lest  Lady  Craven  should  appear  at  the  big  dinner 
he  was  about  to  give  for  her  in  the  latest  French  fashion 

149 


LADY  CRAVEN 

— a  chemise  and  hat !  He  was  much  relieved  when  she 
assured  him  that  her  gown  would  be  pearl  satin  and 
lace,  and  that  her  head  when  dressed  had  no  ornament 
but  her  own  hair. 

Lady  Craven  was  granted  a  private  audience  of  two 
hours  by  the  Emperor  Joseph,  who  ordered  his  Minister, 
Prince  Kaunitz,  to  prepare  one  of  his  houses  for  her  in 
the  hope  that  she  might  pass  the  winter  in  Vienna. 
When  the  Prince  delivered  the  message  he  told  her  that 
*  His  Majesty  says  he  never  saw  any  woman  with  the 
modest,  dignified  deportment  of  Lady  Craven.""  The 
Emperor  being  unmarried  at  this  time,  Lady  Craven 
professes  to  have  been  terrified  at  the  high  opinion  that 
he  expressed  of  her ;  and  after  a  stay  of  only  ten  days  in 
the  Austrian  capital,  she  fled,  '  like  a  frightened  bird,1 
to  Warsaw.  Here  she  was  cordially  received  by  the 
King,  who,  she  says,  '  was  the  second  person  I  have  seen 
whom  I  could  have  wished  not  to  be  a  sovereign. ""  His 
Majesty,  who  spoke  both  French  and  German  fluently, 
said  that  he  had  not  been  in  England  for  thirty  years, 
and  asked  if  Mr.  Wai  pole  were  still  living.  '  Not  only 
living,  sire,  but  in  good  spirits,'  was  her  reply ;  '  and  I 
have  in  my  pocket  a  letter  from  him.''  The  King  said 
(rather  indiscreetly)  that  he  should  like  a  sight  of  it,  as 
Mr.  Walpole^  style  must  be  uncommon.  After  reading 
it,  his  Majesty  said  that  he  should  translate  it  into 
French  for  the  benefit  of  his  sister,  the  Princess  of 
Cracovia.  Lady  Craven  told  him  of  the  little  story  she 
had  written  with  the  purpose  of  diverting  Mr.  Walpole's 
gout,  and  explained  that  she  had  begun  by  fearing  him 
very  much ;  '  but  his  partiality  for  me,  and  the  protec- 
tion he  had  given  to  my  pen,  had  emboldened  me  to 
compose  for  his  amusement." 
150 


LADY  CRAVEN 

While  at  Warsaw  Lady  Craven  visited  her  former 
friend,  the  Princess  Czartoriski,  who  was  living  in  the 
neighbourhood.  '  When  I  told  her  what  had  made  me 
resolve  to  quit  England,1  she  writes,  '  she  desired  I  should 
never  return  there ;  and  said  that  clubs,  fox-hunting, 
and  racing  made  the  men,  however  well  inclined  by 
nature  or  education,  unfit  for  the  society  of  polished 
great  ladies.  I  assured  her  I  could  add  newspapers, 
port  and  claret,  Parliamentary  opposition,  and  want  of 
taste,  that  would  make  me  reside  out  of  England  when- 
ever I  could.1 

The  middle  of  winter  was  a  curious  time  to  choose 
for  a  journey  through  Poland  and  Russia,  and  the  tra- 
veller found  no  little  difficulty  in  getting  to  St.  Peters- 
burg. Her  chariot  was  taken  off  its  wheels  and  put 
upon  a  sledge  ;  but  the  roads  being  very  narrow,  it  was 
often  hung  up  upon  the  trees,  and  on  one  occasion  some 
peasants  had  to  be  requisitioned  to  cut  down  a  tree 
before  it  could  be  disentangled.  On  arriving  at  St. 
Petersburg,  Lady  Craven  was  invited  to  L'Hermitage 
(where  she  saw  the  recently  purchased  Houghton  pic- 
tures), and  graciously  received  by  the  Empress  Catherine. 
'  There  is  nothing,"1  she  says,  '  either  grand  or  dignified 
in  the  Empress's  person  ;  and  as  to  her  face,  it  is  not  like 
any  picture  I  have  ever  seen  of  her.  She  has  a  face  like 
ten  thousand  others ;  small  grey  eyes,  and  a  nose  that 
does  not  lend  any  grandeur  to  a  set  of  features  that 
have  none.  She  has  the  remains  of  a  fine  skin ;  and 
when  she  smiles,  it  is  not  the  grin  of  gracious  majesty 
that  condescends  to  smile.1 

Lady  Craven  was  taken  to  see  the  old  Princess 
Romanzof,  the  Empress's  first  maid-of-honour,  who  was 
ninety  years  old.  *  I  am  so  old,1  she  told  her  visitor,  '  that 

151 


LADY  CRAVEN 

I  have  seen  your  great  Duke  of  Marlborough  and  his 
Duchess  at  the  Hague.  He  was  so  stingy,  that  when 
his  black  silk  stockings  had  holes  in  them,  they  were 
darned  with  white  thread.  As  to  his  beautiful  Duchess, 
she  used  to  get  tipsy  on  rum  punch.1  Lady  Craven  was 
also  invited  to  dine  with  Prince  Potemkin  in  an  immense 
palace  that  he  was  building.  The  only  room  finished 
was  three  hundred  feet  long,  and  she  came  home  quite 
ill  with  the  cold,  and  bored  into  the  bargain  ;  for  she  says 
that  she  never  heard  the  sound  of  her  host's  voice  except 
when  he  asked  what  she  would  take  to  eat.  Lady  Craven 
observes  that  Peter  the  Great  made  a  huge  mistake  when 
he  transferred  his  capital  from  Moscow  to  St.  Petersburg  ; 
'  for  although  the  Empress  does  all  she  can  to  invite 
politeness,  science,  and  comforts  to  cheer  this  region  of 
ice,  until  she  can  alter  the  climate  I  believe  it  is  a  fruit- 
less attempt.' 

Lady  Craven  does  not  allude  to  the  fact  of  her  having 
any  travelling  companion ;  but  Horace  Walpole,  in  a  letter 
to  Sir  Horace  Mann,  dated  March  16,  1786,  says  :  '  Lord 
and  Lady  Spencer  are  arrived — and  now  I  suppose  the 
adventures  of  a  certain  lady  and  her  cousin  Vernon,  which 
I  have  kept  profoundly  secret,  will  be  made  public.  I 
have  lately  received  a  letter  from  the  Lady  from 
Petersburgh ;  luckily,  she  gave  me  no  direction  to  her, 
no  more  than  from  Venice  ;  so,  if  necessary,  I  shall  plead 
that  I  did  not  know  whether  I  must  direct  next  to 
Grand  Cairo  or  Constantinople.  Petersburgh  I  think  a 
very  congenial  asylum  ;  the  Sovereign  has  already  fostered 
the  Ducal  Countess  of  Bristol  [Miss  Chudleigh] — for  in 
the  family  of  Hervey  double  dignities  couple  with  facility. 
Formerly  our  outlaws  used  to  concentre  at  Boulogne ; 
they  are  now  spread  over  the  face  of  the  earth.  Mr. 
152 


LADY  CRAVEN 

Vernon  s  cousin  tells  me  she  has  also  been  at  Warsaw ; 
that  she  showed  the  King  a  letter  of  mine,  who  put  it 
into  his  pocket,  translated  it  into  French  (though  return- 
ing the  original),  and  would  send  it  to  his  sister,  the 
Princess  of  Cracovia,  at  Vienna ;  so  I  may  see  it  in  an 
Utrecht  gazette  !  I  know  not  what  it  contained  ;  how- 
ever, I  comfort  myself  that  I  have  never  dealt  with  my 
heroine  but  in  compliments  or  good  advice ;  but  this 
comes  of  corresponding  with  strolling  Roxanes.' 

In  a  letter  from  Paris,  Lady  Craven  had  told  the 
Margrave  that  Mr.  Vernon  had  heard  an  Englishman  in 
a  diligence  talking  scandal  about  her,  and  adds,  '  You 
may  imagine  the  rage  of  Vernon,  whose  wife  on  her 
deathbed  bequeathed  to  him  all  her  partiality  for  me.' 
The  only  mention  of  him  during  her  travels  is  in  a  letter 
from  Vienna,  in  which  she  describes  how  she  shocked 
Mr.  Vernon  and  the  company  generally  by  asserting  that 
Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  had  not  written  the 
letters  that  were  attributed  to  her.  *  Lady  Mary,1  she 
observes,  '  was  sensible  and  accomplished,  and  had  a 
style  of  her  own  that  would  easily  have  been  distinguish- 
able from  that  of  another  woman  who  wrote  well.  Judge, 
then,  if  I  can  consent  to  acknowledge  that  I  take  the 
soft  graceful  hand  of  a  lady  when  I  feel  the  scratches  of 
the  cloven  claw  of  a  male  scholar  in  every  line.  Lady 
Bute  told  me  that  Horace  Walpole  and  two  other  wits 
joined  to  divert  themselves  at  the  expense  of  the  credulity 
of  the  public  by  composing  these  letters.' 

Lady  Craven  now  decided  to  travel  through  the 
Crimea  en  route  for  Constantinople,  though  she  had  been 
solemnly  warned  by  the  Russians  that  she  would  find 
the  air  unwholesome,  and  the  water  poisonous.  Nothing 
daunted,  she  hired  a  couple  of  the  carriages  of  the 

153 


LADY  CRAVEN 

country  called  kibitkas,  which  were  made  in  the  form  of 
cradles,  so  that  the  occupant  could  lie  at  full  length. 
These  were  slung  on  sledges  ;  but  the  snow  tracks  were 
so  worn  and  rough  that  travelling  was  far  from  pleasant, 
and  the  carriage  was  twice  upset  on  the  way  to  Moscow. 
The  horses,  she  says,  were  obedient  to  the  least  motion 
of  their  driver's  hand,  and  were  never  touched  with  the 
whip  on  a  journey,  but  their  docility  was  the  result  of 
unmerciful  beating  in  the  stable.  Lady  Craven,  who 
had  the  despotic  temper  of  a  beauty  of  the  old  regime, 
was  favourably  impressed  with  the  serf  system  as  prac- 
tised in  Russia,  and  evidently  yearned  to  import  some 
system  of  slavery  into  her  own  country,  to  say  nothing 
of  a  vigorous  censorship  of  the  press. 

The  traveller  reached  Moscow  in  safety  on  February 
29,  and  after  a  short  stay  proceeded  to  Cherson,  where 
she  arrived  on  March  12.  Part  of  the  journey  was 
performed  under  the  escort  of  a  Cossack  guard,  who 
believed  that  they  were  escorting  a  corpse,  because 
the  carriage  was  closed.  When  it  was  opened  in  the 
morning,  and  the  occupant  looked  out,  they  scattered 
in  terror,  fancying  that  the  corpse  had  suddenly  come 
to  life.  The  way  was  enlivened  by  a  sham  fight 
performed  by  the  Cossacks  and  a  visit  to  a  Tartar 
encampment,  where  her  ladyship  was  introduced  to 
the  Grand  Kham  himself.  At  Sebastopol  she  found 
a  French  frigate  of  thirty-six  guns,  under  disguise  of  a 
merchant-vessel,  fitted  out  for  her  use.  The  voyage  to 
Pera  was  only  supposed  to  take  two  days,  but  on  this 
occasion  the  ship  was  becalmed  for  three  days,  and  it 
was  not  till  the  seventh  that  the  Turkish  coast  came  in 
sight.  Then  the  startling  discovery  was  made  that  the 
Greek  pilot  was  dead  drunk.  The  officers  were  greatly 
154 


alarmed,  as  none  of  them  knew  the  coast,  and  their  only 
guide  was  a  small  map  of  the  Black  Sea  belonging  to 
Lady  Craven.  She  dressed  herself  in  a  riding  habit, 
and  taking  a  small  box  in  one  hand  and  an  umbrella  (!) 
in  the  other,  told  the  captain  that  she  should  get  into  a 
boat  and  land  somewhere  on  the  Turkish  shore  rather 
than  lose  sight  of  the  entrance  to  the  harbour. 

These  extreme  measures  did  not  prove  necessary, 
and  on  April  20  the  frigate  safely  anchored  in  the 
bay,  and  the  traveller  was  rowed  to  Pera.  The  Comte 
de  Choiseul,1  then  French  Ambassador  at  Constan- 
tinople, had  received  orders  to  show  her  hospitality, 
and  she  was  luxuriously  lodged  in  the  Palais  de  France. 
The  Count  was  then  employing  artists  to  draw  for  him 
all  the  finest  ruins  in  Europe  and  Asia,  which  enlight- 
ened liberality  resulted  in  the  splendid  collection  now  in 
the  Louvre.  Lady  Craven  spent  hours  looking  over  the 
drawings,  and  was  also  able  to  indulge  her  taste  for 
music,  the  Count  having  routed  out  a  piano  and  a  harp 
for  her  use.  When  she  went  out  she  was  carried  in  one 
of  the  Ambassador's  chairs  by  six  Turks,  with  two  jan- 
issaries walking  in  front.  '  I  believe/  she  writes,  '  people 
think  it  so  singular  a  thing  for  a  lady  to  come  here 
without  being  obliged,  that  they  try  to  keep  me  as  long 
as  they  can.1 

Lady  Craven  was  allowed  to  visit  the  harem  of  the 
'  Captain  Pacha,1  or  Lord  High  Admiral,  then  in  almost 
supreme  power,  who  kept  a  pet  lion  which  used  to 
follow  him  to  Cabinet  meetings,  and  frighten  the  other 
ministers  out  of  their  wits.  The  women,  she  says,  spoilt 
their  beauty  with  white  and  red  paint  ill  applied,  teeth 
black  with  smoking,  and  shoulders  rounded  by  their 
1  Author  of  the  Voyage  pittoresque  en  GrZce. 

155 


LADY  CRAVEN 

habit  of  sitting  cross-legged.  She  makes  the  somewhat 
astonishing  statement  that  the  Turks  set  an  example  to 
the  men  of  all  other  nations  in  their  conduct  towards 
their  women,  and  declares  that  the  Turkish  ladies  ought 
to  be  very  happy,  being  kept  in  so  much  luxury,  and 
allowed  so  much  liberty  !  Another  interesting  sight 
was  that  of  the  Sultan  going  to  prayers,  with  a  green 
umbrella  over  his  head,  the  ribs  of  which  were  set  with 
diamonds.  At  this  time  the  Porte  had  refused  to  pro- 
vide new  batteries,  on  the  ground  of  shortness  of  money  ; 
yet  the  jewellers  could  not  find  jewels  enough  to  supply 
his  harem. 

After  a  cruise  among  the  Grecian  islands,  and  a  visit  to 
Athens  in  a  little  frigate  lent  by  the  Comte  de  Choiseul, 
Lady  Craven  decided  to  travel  back  to  Vienna  through 
the  untrodden  ways  of  Wallachia  and  Hungary.  The 
Porte,  being  asked  by  de  Choiseul  to  allow  a  Tchonadar, 
or  Vizier's  servant,  to  escort  the  traveller  as  far  as 
Bucharest,  sent  an  official,  not  to  inquire  into  the  lady's 
rank,  as  might  have  been  expected,  but  to  see  whether 
she  was  pretty  enough  to  be  worth  the  trouble.  The 
man  made  so  favourable  a  report,  that  the  Sultan  could 
not  do  enough  for  the  lady's  comfort  and  safety,  and 
the  only  wonder  is  that  he  allowed  her  to  leave  his 
dominions.  The  Tchonadar  proved  an  unmitigated 
nuisance  on  the  journey,  all  the  delays  being  made  on 
his  account,  while  his  wants  had  to  be  attended  to 
first,  and  he  invariably  tried  to  get  the  best  rooms  for 
himself. 

However,  in  spite  of  many  difficulties  and  annoyances, 
the  long  rough  journey  to  Bucharest  was  safely  accom- 
plished. At  night  the  party  halted  with  the  caravans 
for  safety ;  and  though  by  day  the  horses  had  to  be 
156 


LADY  CRAVEN 

rested  every  ten  minutes  on  account  of  the  heat,  the 
dews  were  so  heavy  that  in  the  morning  the  travellers 
looked  as  though  they  had  all  been  dragged  through  a 
river.  On  entering  Wallachia,  they  progressed  at  a 
great  rate,  the  Prince  having  given  strict  orders  that 
Lady  Craven  was  to  travel  with  no  delays  and  at  no 
expense.  If  they  met  a  peasant  riding  a  good  horse,  he 
was  ordered  to  dismount,  and  left  with  a  tired  animal, 
while  his  own  was  harnessed  to  the  carriage. 

At  Bucharest  our  heroine  was  hospitably  entertained 
by  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wallachia,  who  serenaded 
her  with  strange  music,  gave  her  a  beautiful  Arab  horse, 
and  urged  her  to  stay  with  them  a  year.  But  she 
pressed  on  over  almost  impassable  roads,  her  carriage 
being  again  overturned,  to  Hermannstadt,  on  the  Aus- 
trian frontier.  Here  she  was  received  by  an  old  major, 
who  said  that  in  the  twenty-three  years  he  had  been 
stationed  there  she  was  the  first  lady  who  had  passed 
that  way.  The  Emperor  Joseph,  who  was  reviewing 
his  cavalry  in  the  neighbourhood,  paid  her  a  visit, 
and  sat  for  two  hours  looking  over  her  maps  and 
presents.  The  traveller  reached  Vienna  on  August  30, 
1786,  and  from  thence  went  to  Anspach,  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  the  Margravine,  and  arrange  for 
taking  up  her  residence  at  the  Court  the  following 
winter.  Meanwhile,  she  proposed  to  return  to  Eng- 
land for  a  few  weeks  in  order  to  see  her  children 
and  collect  some  of  her  belongings.  The  visit  to 
Anspach  seems  to  have  been  a  success,  for  on  October 
1,  1786,  she  writes  to  the  Margrave:  'I  am  now 
embarking  for  England.  I  carry  with  me,  sir,  the 
proud  satisfaction  of  having  pleased  the  Margravine. 
Your  courtiers  have  assured  me  I  am  the  only  person 

157 


LADY  CKAVEN 

they  ever  saw  her  like ;  that  she  told  them  the  sound  of 
my  voice  did  her  good.  .  .  .  My  mother  will  think  I 
am  quite  right  to  have  hovered  in  the  air  so  long,  when 
she  knows  where  my  resting-place  is  to  be  ;  and  if  she  is 
angry  with  me  now,  will  be  excessively  pleased.  But 
my  brother  will  say  "  Pourquoi "  now  and  for  ever,  even 
when  he  knows  I  am  your  adopted  sister ;  but  if  he  said 
so  to  me,  I  should  reply,  "  Because  I  esteem  the  Mar- 
grave enough  to  think  being  his  adopted  sister  is  an 
idea  that  will  support  me  through  every  trouble  and 
comfort  me  for  every  sorrow.""' 

Lady  Craven's  arrival  in  England,  after  an  absence  of 
nearly  two  years,  appears  to  have  fluttered  the  dovecotes 
of  both  Berkeley  and  Craven,  as  the  family  correspond- 
ence proves.1  Her  husband  wrote  to  Lord  Berkeley  to 
ask  what  course  he  intended  to  take,  to  which  his  lord- 
ship replied  in  laconic  fashion  : — 

'  MY  DEAR  LORD, — As  to  any  part  of  my  family,  I 
cannot  answer  for.  Sufficient  for  myself  to  say  that  I 
shall  certainly  give  you  every  support  you  require  in 
the  business  consistent  with  my  regard  for  her  as  her 
brother — and  as  hitherto  you  have  had  it,  not  only  on 
account  of  my  near  relationship  to  your  children,  but 
also  your  behaviour  to  her,  no  alterations  will  take 
place  in  the  sentiments  of  your  affectionate  and  obedient 
servant,  BERKELEY."* 

Mr.  Joseph  Hill,  Cowper's  friend  and  correspondent, 
was  Lord  Craven's  agent,  and  seems  to  have  acted 
as  mediator  between  him  and  his  wife.  In  a  letter 
to  Lord  Craven,  dated  October  1786,  Mr.  Hill  says: 

1  Here  first  published. 

158 


LADY  CRAVEN 

'  I  return  Lord  Berkeley's  letter.  I  hope  it  will  turn 
out  as  he  supposes.  He  cannot  but  wish  it,  and 
Lady  Craven  will  certainly  receive  no  countenance  or 
support  from  any  quarter  of  consequence  in  this  country 
— so  that  for  her  own  sake  she  will  not  stay  long  here. 
On  every  consideration  I  wish  your  lordship  not  to  pro- 
ceed to  any  acts  of  violence  or  litigation  in  the  present 
state  of  things,  lest  you  give  her  an  advantage  she 
cannot  obtain  by  any  other  means.  You  will  recollect, 
by  the  terms  of  your  agreement,  she  is  not  obliged  to 
live  abroad,  and  she  is  at  liberty  to  see  her  children  in 
the  presence  of  either  of  her  brothers.  I  am  persuaded 
they  will  not  encourage  her  in  seeing  the  young  ladies 
— and  as  to  the  two  Mr.  Cravens,  if  Mr.  Forster  [their 
tutor]  is  present,  it  appears  to  be  of  very  little  import- 
ance. I  think  it  will  be  much  best  to  wait  quietly,  and 
see  the  bent  of  his  lordship's  inclinations.  Those  he 
will  pursue ;  and  if  they  square  with  yours,  as  I  trust 
they  will,  he  will  take  effectual  measures  to  send  Lady 
Craven  out  of  the  kingdom — much  more  so,  I  mean, 
than  if  he  is  urged  to  it  strongly.  Meanwhile,  I  wish 
your  lordship  and  the  young  ladies  to  have  as  little 
alarm  as  possible ;  and  if  adverse  proceedings  are  ulti- 
mately necessary  (which  I  am  satisfied  they  will  not  be), 
let  them  be  taken  with  temper,  upon  good  grounds, 
and  wait  for  a  proper  occasion — although  there  is  none 
that  you  can  pursue  with  effect.1 

In  November,  Mr.  Hill  wrote  to  inform  Lord  Craven 
that  although  her  ladyship  had  desired  to  see  her 
daughters,  she  had  gone  into  Sussex,  and  meant  to  go 
from  thence  to  France.  *  I  mention  this  for  your  private 
information,1  he  continues,  '  for  it  will  be  much  best  for 
your  lordship  not  to  let  it  be  understood  you  know  it, 

159 


LADY  CRAVEN 

and  perhaps  it  might  be  as  well  to  answer  her  letter 
offering  a  time  and  place  to  see  the  young  ladies.  I 
find  she  has  been  at  Windsor,  arid  attempted  to  see  Mr. 
Craven  again,  which  Mr.  Forster  resisted.  Whether  the 
former  interview  had  any  effect  on  Mr.  Craven  I  don't 
know.  Mr.  Forster  will  inform  your  lordship  ;  but  the 
account  her  ladyship  was  pleased  to  entertain  him  with 
of  the  reception  she  had  met  with  from  so  many  crowned 
Heads  and  Princes,  I  have  no  doubt  had  been  said 
before  to  her  son,  and  was  well  calculated  to  dazzle 
young  minds.' 

To  this  Lord  Craven  replied  :  '  I  have  had  a  letter 
from  Mr.  Forster,  who  has  had  a  very  long  conversation 
with  Lady  Craven,  and  she  expressed  the  same  resolution 
of  not  now  wishing  to  see  her  children,  and  has  repeatedly 
said  she  should  never  see  them  again.  .  .  .  William  [his 
eldest  son]  is  so  thoroughly  sensible  of  the  impropriety 
of  her  conduct,  and  is  so  warmly  attached  to  me,  that 
all  her  fine  stories  of  foreign  Princes,  Prelates,  States,  and 
Potentates,  will  have  no  kind  of  effect  upon  him.'  Lady 
Craven  having  requested  Mr.  Hill  to  obtain  for  her 
some  of  the  articles  that  she  had  left  in  her  former 
home,  he  communicated  her  wishes  to  Lord  Craven,  who 
replied  in  evident  exasperation ;  '  I  have  just  received 
yours  ;  and  though  I  shall  do  everything  in  my  power 
strictly  to  follow  your  advice,  yet  you  must  allow  it 
requires  no  small  exertion  of  my  patience  to  sit  down 
quietly  and  be  plundered  by  a  woman  who  has  behaved 
with  so  much  ingratitude,  and  I  will  say  insolence, 
towards  me.  What  am  I  to  expect  from  her  brothers  ? 
One  will  not  interfere  because  she  has  used  him  so  ill, 
and  the  other  seems  totally  devoted  to  her,  and  has  folly 
enough  to  support  her  in  her  ill-conduct  towards  me. 
160 


LADY  CRAVEN 

At  present  I  cannot  send  the  things  she  desires,  as  they 
are  chiefly  in  London.  I  find  she  wants  them  to 
furnish  the  cottage  for  her  mother.  Surely  I  am  not 
quietly  to  sit  down  to  be  plundered  and  abused  by 
Lady  Craven.  She  ought  to  be  acquainted  that  I  know 
what  she  has  taken  away,  and  likewise  the  infamous 
and  clandestine  manner  in  which  she  took  several  things 
from  Combe  Abbey.'  In  a  later  letter  to  Mr.  Hill, 
written  in  the  beginning  of  December,  Lord  Craven 
says  ;  '  I  enclose  you  a  letter  from  Lord  Berkeley,  from 
which  I  think  you  will  say  that  Lady  Craven  is  mad. 
I  hope  and  trust  she  is  now  gone  for  ever.  Before  she 
returned  she  wrote  Mr.  Colleton  the  most  extraordinary 
letter  from  Constantinople  I  ever  read,  giving  some 
account  of  her  travels,  which  I  understand  she  means 
to  publish.  .  .  .  [Dec.  14]  Lady  Craven  is  certainly 
gone  to  Paris,  where,  by  a  letter  I  saw  yesterday,  the 
people  think  her  mad,  so  extraordinary  is  her  conduct.' 

During  her  stay  in  London,  Lady  Craven  had  written 
to  Horace  Walpole  offering  to  call  on  him  at  his  house  in 
Berkeley  Square ;  but  as  he  was  then  at  Strawberry  Hill, 
the  two  did  not  meet.  While  at  Constantinople  she 
had  sent  him  a  drawing  of  the  Castle  of  Otranto,  which 
had  been  given  her  by  Sir  Richard  Worsley,  the  British 
Minister.  On  November  27,  1786,  Walpole  wrote  her 
the  following  letter  of  acknowledgment  and  thanks  : — 

*  To  my  extreme  surprise,  madam,  when  I  knew  not 
in  what  quarter  of  the  known  or  unknown  world  you 
was  resident  or  existent,  my  maid  in  Berkeley  Square 
sent  me  to  Strawberry  Hill  a  note  from  your  ladyship 
offering  to  call  on  me  for  a  moment — for  a  whirlwind, 
I  suppose,  was  waiting  at  your  door  to  carry  you  to 
Japan  ;  and  as  balloons  have  not  yet  settled  any  post- 

L  161 


LADY  CRAVEN 

offices  in  the  air,  you  could  not,  or  at  least  did  not,  give 
me  any  direction  where  to  address  you,  though  you  did 
kindly  reproach  me  with  my  silence.  I  must  enter  into 
a  little  justification  before  I  proceed.  I  heard  from  you 
from  Venice,  then  from  Poland,  and  then,  having  whisked 
through  Tartary,  from  Petersburgh ;  but  still  with  no 
directions.  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  will  write  to  Grand 
Cairo,  which  will  probably  be  her  next  stage."  Nor  was 
I  totally  in  the  wrong,  for  there  came  a  letter  from 
Constantinople,  with  a  design  mentioned  of  going  to 
the  Greek  Islands,  and  orders  to  write  to  you  at  Vienna, 
but  with  no  banker  or  other  address  specified. 

*  For  a  great  while  I  had  even  stronger  reasons  than 
these  for   silence.     For  several   months  I  was  disabled 
by  the  gout  from  holding  a  pen ;  and  you  must  know, 
madam,  that  one  can't  write  when  one  cannot  write. 
Then  how  to  communicate  with  La  Fiancee  du  Roi  de 
Garbe?     You  had  been   in   the  tent  of  the  Cham  of 
Tartary,  and  in  the  harem  of  the  Captain  Pasha,  and 
during  your  navigation    of  the  ^Egean   were    possibly 
fallen  into  the  terrible  power  of  a  Corsair.      How  could 
I   suppose   that  so   many   despotic  infidels   would  part 
with  your  charms  ?     I   never    expected   you   again   on 
Christian   ground.      I  did    not    doubt    your    having    a 
talisman  to  make  people  love  you ;  but  anti-talismans 
are  quite  a  new  specific. 

*  Well,  while  I  was  in  this  quandary,  I   received  a 
delightful  drawing  of  the  Castle  of  Otranto ;  but  still 
provokingly  without  any  address.    However,  my  gratitude 
for  so  very  agreeable  and  obliging  a  present  could  not 
rest  till  I  found  you  out.      I  wrote  to  the  Duchess  of 
Richmond    to    beg  that    she  would   ask   your  brother, 
Captain  Berkeley,  for  a  direction  to  you  ;  and  he  has 

162 


LADY  CRAVEN 

this  very  day  been  so  good  as  to  send  me  one,  and  I  do 
not  lose  a  moment  in  making  use  of  it. 

*  I    give    your    ladyship    a    million    thanks    for    the 
drawing,  which  was  really  a  very  valuable  gift  to  me.      I 
did  not  even  know  that  there  was  a  Castle  of  Otranto. 
When  the  story  was  finished,  I  looked  into  the  map  of 
the  kingdom  of  Naples  for  a  well-sounding  name,  and 
that  of  Otranto  was  very  sonorous.     Nay,  but  the  draw- 
ing is  so  satisfactory,  that  there  are  two  small  windows, 
one  over  the  other,  and  looking  into  the  country,  that 
suit  exactly  to  the  small   chambers,  from  one  of  which 
Matilda  heard  the  young  peasant  singing  beneath  her. 
Judge  how  welcome  this  must  be  to  the  author ;  and 
thence  judge,  madam,  how  much  you  have  obliged  him. 

*  When  you  take  another  flight  towards  the  bounds 
of  the  Western  Ocean,  remember  to  leave  a  direction. 
One    cannot    always    shoot    flying.      Lord    Chesterfield 
directed  a  letter  to  the  late  Lord  Pembroke,  who  was 
always  swimming,  "  To  the  Earl  of   Pembroke  in  the 
Thames,  over   against  Whitehall."      That  was  sure  of 
finding  him  within  a  certain  number  of  fathoms ;  but 
your    ladyship's   longitude   varies  so  rapidly,   that  one 
must  be  a  good  bowler  indeed  to  take  one's  ground  so 
judiciously  that  by  casting  wide  of  the  mark  one  may 
come  in  near  the  jack.1 

From  Paris  Lady  Craven  wrote  to  her  husband, 
reproaching  him  with  having  broken  his  promise  to 
allow  her  children  to  write  to  her  once  a  fortnight,  and 
declared  her  intention  of  breaking  her  own  promise  that 
she  would  give  up  Keppel  as  soon  as  he  was  eight  years 
old.  She  further  informed  him  that,  with  her  mother's 
approval,  she  was  going  to  pass  some  time  at  Anspach, 
where  she  was  to  be  treated  as  the  Margrave's  sister. 

163 


LADY  CRAVEN 

If  he  attempted  to  get  possession  of  Keppel  by  force, 
she  was  resolved  to  go  to  Benham,  and  throw  herself 
for  protection  and  redress  upon  the  laws  of  her  country. 
About  the  same  time  she  wrote  the  following  (un- 
published) letter  to  the  Marquis  of  Carnarvon,  whom 
she  had  apparently  consulted  in  her  difficulties  : — 

*  I  have  sent  your  lordship  a  very  grave  letter  by  Mr. 
Tate,  a  worthy  and  amiable  man.  The  contents  of  it  I 
hope  will  remain  eternally  buried  between  you  and  me ; 
and  if  you  can  serve  me  in  the  matter,  I  shall  never  be 
thankful  enough.  If  I  am  blackballed  at  Parnassus,  I 
shall  have  courted  the  Muses  on  their  own  territory  to 
little  purpose  indeed.  I  feel  I  am  now  out  of  favour 
with  the  God  of  Light,  for  I  have  not  a  ray  of  his 
divinity,  not  even  a  small  sparkle  at  the  end  of  my  pen 
to  make  it  trace  a  few  lines  to  you  in  return  for  yours ; 
for  which  I  thank  you  very  much,  and  wish  your  in- 
disposition may  be  of  no  more  serious  nature  than  the 
new  piece  of  scandal  you  threaten  me  with,  though  it 
does  not  surprise  me.  I  certainly  did  go  into  the 
Temple  of  Jupiter  and  of  Minerva  at  Athens — who 
knows  but  Apollo  might  have  met  me  there ;  if  he 
did,  I  assure  you  he  was  accompanied  by  the  nine  Muses, 
and  surely  there  were  ladies  enough  to  match  one  mortal. 
Well,  if  they  have  said  anything  amiss  of  my  doings 
there,  I  shall  summon  them  to  the  Court  of  Conscience, 
and  they  will  confess  (nay,  mortals  will  soon  see)  what  I 
did  there  was  by  their  commands,  aided  and  assisted  by 
them — and  lest  your  curiosity  should  lead  your  ideas 
astray  on  this  subject — know,  my  good  lord,  that  I  did 
compose  while  in  Greece  something  for  M.  de  Choiseurs 
press  at  Pera.  You  would  be  very  surprised  now  if  I 
were  to  tell  you  I  am  like  a  cow,  because,  having  a 
164 


LADY  CRAVEN 

shocking  cough,  I  mean  to  live  upon  milk  chiefly — but 
I  think  you  deserve  this,  for  I  am  as  like  to  a  cow  as 
you  are  to  a  calf,  and  depend  on 't,  whenever  you  bray 
I  shall  bellow. — So  hoping  a  day  may  come  when  we 
may  bray  and  bellow  a  duo  together,  I  remain,  in  prose, 
your  much  obliged  humble  friend  and  servant, 

'ELIZA.  CRAVEN.' 

It  will  be  noted  that  her  ladyship,  in  spite  of  her 
boasted  clearness  of  ideas,  was  decidedly  hazy  on  the 
subject  of  natural  history,  since  calves  do  not  usually 
bray,  nor  do  cows  live  on  milk. 

During  Lady  Craven's  stay  in  Paris  on  her  way  to 
Anspach,  Horace  Walpole  wrote  her  a  letter  on  the 
subject  of  her  proposed  publication  of  her  Travels, 
which  contrasts  amusingly  with  his  letters  to  Lady 
Ossory  on  the  same  subject  when  the  book  actually 
came  out.  *  Your  ladyship  tells  me,1  he  writes  under 
the  date  of  January  2,  1787,  *  that  you  have  kept  a 
journal  of  your  travels ;  you  know  not  when  your  friends 
at  Paris  will  give  you  time  to  put  it  au  net ;  that  is,  I 
conclude  and  hope,  prepare  it  for  the  press.  I  do  not 
wonder  that  those  friends,  whether  talismanic  or  others, 
are  so  assiduous  if  you  indulge  them  ;  but  unless  they 
are  of  the  former  description,  they  are  unpardonable,  if 
they  know  what  they  interrupt.  .  .  .  How  proud 
I  should  be  to  register  a  noble  authoress  of  my 
own  country,  who  has  travelled  over  more  regions 
and  farther  than  any  female  in  print !  Your  ladyship 
has  visited  those  islands  and  shore  whence  formerly 
issued  those  travelling  sages  and  legislators  who  sought 
and  imported  wisdom,  laws,  and  religion  into  Greece ; 
and  though  we  are  so  perfect  as  to  want  none  of  these 
commodities,  the  fame  of  those  philosophers  is  certainly 

165 


LADY  CRAVEN 

diminished  when  a  fair  lady  has  gone  as  far  in  quest  of 
knowledge.  You  have  gone  in  an  age  when  travels  are 
brought  to  a  juster  standard,  by  narrations  being  limited 
to  truth. 

*  Formerly  the  performers  of  the  longest  voyages 
destroyed  half  the  merit  of  their  expeditions  by  relat- 
ing, not  what  they  had,  but  had  not  seen  ;  a  sort  of 
communication  that  they  might  have  imparted  with- 
out stirring  a  foot  from  home.  Such  exaggerations 
drew  discredit  on  travels,  till  people  would  not  believe 
that  there  existed,  in  other  countries,  anything  very 
different  from  what  they  saw  in  their  own  ;  and  because 
no  Patagonians,  or  gentry  seven  or  eight  feet  high,  were 
really  discovered,  they  would  not  believe  that  there  were 
Laplanders  or  pigmies  of  three  or  four.  Incredulity 
went  so  far  that  at  last  it  was  doubted  whether  China 
so  much  as  existed ;  and  our  countryman,  Sir  John 
Mandeville,  got  an  ill  name  because,  though  he  gave 
an  account  of  it,  he  had  not  brought  back  its  right 
name.  .  .  . 

'  I  am  sorry  to  hear,  madam,  that  by  your  account 
Lady  Mary  Wortley  was  not  so  accurate  and  faithful  as 
modern  travellers.  The  invaluable  art  of  inoculation, 
which  she  brought  from  Constantinople,  so  dear  to  all 
admirers  of  beauty,  and  to  which  we  owe,  perhaps,  the 
preservation  of  yours,  stamps  her  an  universal  bene- 
factress ;  and  as  you  rival  her  in  poetic  talents,  I  had 
rather  you  would  employ  them  to  celebrate  her  for  her 
nostrum  than  detect  her  for  romancing.  However, 
genuine  accounts  of  the  interior  of  seraglios  would  be 
precious  ;  and  I  was  in  hope  would  become  the  greater 
rarities,  as  I  flattered  myself  that  your  friends,  the 
Empress  of  Russia  and  the  Emperor  [of  Germany],  were 
166 


LADY  CRAVEN 

determined  to  level  Ottoman  tyranny.  His  Imperial 
Majesty,  who  has  demolished  the  prison  bars  of  so  many 
nunneries,  would  perform  a  still  more  Christian  act  in 
setting  free  so  many  useless  sultanas.  .  .  .  Your 
ladyship's  indefatigable  peregrinations  should  have  such 
objects  in  view,  when  you  have  the  ear  of  sovereigns. 
Peter  the  Hermit  conjured  up  the  first  crusades  against 
the  infidels  by  running  from  monarch  to  monarch. 
Lady  Craven  should  be  as  zealous  and  renowned ;  and 
every  fair  Circassian  would  acknowledge  that  one  Eng- 
lish lady  had  repaid  their  country  for  the  secret  which 
another  had  given  to  Europe  from  their  practice.' 


PART    III 

CHRISTIAN  FREDERICK,  Margrave  of  Anspach,  Branden- 
burgh,  and  Bareith,  Duke  of  Prussia,  and  Count  of 
Sayn,  who  henceforward  played  so  important  a  part 
in  Lady  Craven's  life,  was  born  in  1736.  His  mother 
was  an  elder  sister  of  Frederick  the  Great,  under  whom 
the  Margrave  studied  war  tactics  and  strategy  in  his 
youth.  Caroline,  Queen  of  George  n.,  was  an  elder 
sister  of  the  Margrave's  father,  and  helped  to  superintend 
his  education.  When  only  fifteen,  Christian  Frederick 
was  informed  by  his  father  that  he  was  expected  to 
marry  his  cousin,  a  Princess  of  Saxe-Coburg.  On  seeing 
his  proposed  bride,  he  refused  the  match,  but  was  told 
that  he  would  be  kept  in  a  State  prison  until  he  con- 
sented. The  boy,  who  loved  field  sports  and  out-of- 
door  life,  could  not  long  hold  out  against  such  a  threat, 
and  when  he  was  eighteen  the  marriage  took  place. 
The  Margravine  was  sickly  in  body,  and  dull  and 

167 


LADY  CRAVEN 

indifferent  in  disposition  ;  while,  worst  offence  of  all,  she 
bore  her  husband  no  heir.  When  he  succeeded  to  the 
Margraviate  three  years  after  his  marriage,  the  ministers 
suggested  that  the  Prince  should  divorce  his  wife  and 
seek  a  younger  bride  ;  but  he  replied,  '  I  am  her  husband, 
and  as  long  as  she  lives  I  am  bound  to  protect  her.1 
He  allowed  himself,  however,  considerable  latitude  in 
the  direction  of  left-handed  alliances,  though  he  prided 
himself  upon  never  having  formed  a  liaison  with  a 
woman  of  his  own  nation.  He  early  earned  the  reputa- 
tion of  an  unusually  eccentric  sovereign,  for  his  extrava- 
gances and  caprices  knew  no  bounds,  and  for  some  years 
Europe  is  said  to  have  rung  with  his  follies. 

Lady  Craven  declares  that  the  joy  of  the  Margravine 
at  seeing  her  was  very  great,  though  she  was  naturally 
cold  and  indifferent  to  those  around  her,  more  especially 
to  her  husband.  Life  at  the  little  German  Court  was 
formal,  monotonous,  and  deadly  dull,  but  the  Margrave's 
adopted  sister  claims  to  have  cheered  and  brightened 
the  hours  of  her  '  kind  and  princely  brother.'  She 
persuaded  him  to  turn  an  old  manege  into  a  theatre ; 
and  with  the  Court  orchestra  to  play,  and  the  young 
nobility  to  sing  and  dance,  she  managed  to  arrange  re- 
presentations that  were  not  only  lively,  but  magnificent. 
She  was  manager-in-chief,  wrote  most  of  the  pieces  for 
her  company,  and  usually  appropriated  the  leading  roles. 
Another  of  her  innovations  was  the  establishment  of  a 
society  for  the  encouragement  of  science  and  art,  the 
members  of  which  met  once  a  week,  read  papers,  and 
discussed  various  learned  subjects. 

The  Margrave  proposed  that  Lady  Craven  should 
found  a  charitable  school  for  girls,  and  gave  a  fine 
house  and  garden  for  the  purpose,  observing  that  females 
168 


LADY  CRAVEN 

of  every  class  to  whom  she  should  prescribe  the  mode 
of  education  were  certain  to  prove  good  wives  and 
mothers.  The  Margravine  threw  cold  water  upon  the 
plan,  and  in  the  result  not  a  single  person  recommended 
a  child  to  this  miniature  St.  Cyr,  the  inhabitants  of 
Anspach  apparently  not  sharing  their  sovereign's  faith 
in  Lady  Craven's  ability  to  train  good  wives  and 
mothers.  The  Englishwoman  explains  that  there  was 
much  jealousy  against  her  on  the  part  of  the  entourage, 
who  thought  that  she  intended  to  fill  the  Court  with 
her  English  friends.  The  Germans,  she  says,  always 
imagine  that  you  have  a  scheme  if  you  reside  among 
them ;  and  she  complains  that  she  could  never  satisfy 
the  suspicions  of  the  people,  who  invariably  opposed 
her  plans. 

Lady  Craven's  chief  rival  at  Anspach  was  the  once 
famous  actress,  Mademoiselle  Clairon.  In  1755,  when 
she  was  only  forty-two,  Clairon  had  left  the  stage ;  and 
eight  years  later  the  Margrave,  over  whom  she  had 
obtained  a  strong  influence,  invited  her  to  come  and 
reside  at  Anspach.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  asserting 
that  she  had  come  to  Anspach  at  the  request  of  the 
Margravine,  and  that  her  coming  had  prevented  a  divorce 
between  the  royal  pair.  She  kept  up  an  extravagant 
establishment  at  the  expense  of  the  Margrave,  who 
called  her  sa  maman,  and  treated  her  as  a  councillor 
and  confidante.  The  elderly  maman  naturally  became 
furiously  jealous  of  the  fascinating  adopted  sister.  An 
amusing  account  of  the  relations  between  the  rivals  is 
given  in  the  Memoirs  of  the  Alsatian  Baroness  D'Ober- 
kirk,  nee  de  Freundstein,  who  lived  in  the  family  of 
the  Duke  of  Wlirtemberg  at  Montbeliard,  near  Strasburg. 
During  her  stay  at  Anspach,  Lady  Craven  paid  a  visit 

169 


LADY  CRAVEN 

to  Strasburg,  bringing  a  letter  of  introduction  from  the 
Margrave  to  the  family  of  Wiirtemberg. 

'  There  are  some  persons,'  writes  the  Baroness 
D'Oberkirk,  a  propos  of  this  visitor,  '  whom  Providence 
allows  to  pass  a  great  part  of  their  lives  without 
experiencing  any  obstacle  to  their  bizarre  and  extra- 
ordinary conduct ;  and  then,  when  perhaps  it  is  least 
expected,  they  fall  into  irremediable  misfortune.  .  .  . 
Lady  Craven  only  kept  her  place  in  the  world  by  force 
of  her  boldness,  spirit,  and  aplomb.  Without  being 
exactly  pretty,  she  was  piquant  and  agreeable,  with  fine 
eyes  and  superb  chestnut  hair.  She  was  a  charming 
companion,  sweet,  gay,  insouciante,  without  the  least 
pedantry ;  her  timidity  was  delicious.  Her  dominant 
passion  was  for  comedy,  which  she  acted  admirably, 
and  she  communicated  this  passion  to  the  Margrave. 
Her  conversation  was  very  amusing — elle  racontait  comme 
M.  de  Voltaire?  The  eccentricities  of  Lord  Craven 
furnished  many  droll  chapters ;  but  what  she  related 
most  successfully  was  her  arrival  at  Anspach,  her  rela- 
tions with  Mademoiselle  Clairon,  and  the  jealousy  and 
extravagance  of  the  actress.  At  first  she  was  cordially 
received  by  the  ruling  goddess,  who  made  her  the  con- 
fidante of  all  her  complaints  against  the  Margrave.  Lady 
Craven  listened  with  a  sympathetic  ear,  and  lectured 
the  Prince,  who  apologised  and  promised  amendment. 
But  Clairon  was  full  of  capricious  humours,  and  went 
through  life  with  a  tragedy  air,  *  her  very  night-cap,1 
according  to  Lady  Craven,  '  having  all  the  dignity  of 
a  gilt-paper  crown.1  After  a  time  the  Englishwoman 
began  to  laugh  at  the  heroics  of  her  friend,  and  made 
the  Margrave  laugh  too,  who  was  never  able  to  treat 
his  *  maman '  seriously  again.  Lady  Craven  continued 
170 


LADY  CRAVEN 

to  laugh  and  to  amuse  the  Margrave  ;  she  played  comedy 
in  the  theatre  and  in  the  salon,  while  her  pink  cheeks, 
smiles,  and  good  humour  made  the  pretensions  of 
Cleopatra  insupportable.  Clairon  became  jealous,  and 
threatened  to  stab  herself.  The  Margrave  was  alarmed, 
but  Lady  Craven  asked  scornfully,  '  Do  you  forget  that 
actresses1  poignards  only  run  into  their  sleeves  ? '  Open 
war  was  now  declared  between  the  two  rivals ;  but  after 
three  years1  struggle  Clairon  fled,  uttering  imprecations 
against  her  supplanter.  Lady  Craven  told  the  story 
in  inimitable  fashion.  '  It  was  easy  for  me,1  she  said, 
*  to  enter  into  the  lists  against  an  actress,  for  I  know 
all  Voltaire,  Corneille,  and  Racine  by  heart.  She  could 
never  find  me  at  a  loss ;  I  always  had  a  weapon 
ready.1 

Writing  in  later  years  to  her  friend,  Charles  Kirk- 
patrick  Sharpe,  Lady  Craven  observes  of  her  old  rival  : 
'  Mademoiselle  Clairon  was  the  greatest  liar  that  ever 
existed.  There  is  a  printed  book  called  Memoir  es  de 
Mile.  Clairon^  in  which  there  is  scarcely  anything  but 
lies.  Among  them  is  the  conversation  she  pretends  to 
have  had  with  the  Margrave^  first  wife — a  tete-a-tete. 
Now  I  was  given  an  account  by  all  the  courtiers  at 
Anspach  de  ses  Jhits  et  gestes  while  she  was  there.  She 
never  was  alone  with  the  Margravine.  Never  saw  her 
but  before  all  the  people  invited  to  hear  her  declama- 
tion. She  never  did  anything  but  act.  Her  brain 
was  so  completely  turned  by  her  favour  with  the 
Margrave  that  at  one  of  the  two  audiences  (she  was 
with  the  Margravine  only  twice),  when  somebody  said, 
"  Est-ce  que  Mademoiselle  parle  TAllemand  ? 11  she 
replied,  "Comment  peut-on  parler  une  langue  non 
articulee?"  This  before  a  German  Princess  as  proud 

171 


LADY  CRAVEN 

of  the  German  tongue  as  of  her  pedigree.  Another 
time,  one  of  the  chamberlains  told  her  she  spoke  to 
the  Margrave  with  too  much  hauteur.  "  Que  voulez- 
vous,  mon  cher  Baron  ?  "  she  returned.  "  J'ai  joue  tant 
d'imperatrices  sur  le  theatre  que  je  me  crois  imperatrice 
meme  sur  ma  chaise.""  If  she  had  had  any  virtues,  she 
would  have  been  a  very  dangerous  person,  for  she 
always  studied  words  and  actions  to  produce  some 
effect.1 

Lady  Craven  seems  to  have  kept  up  an  intermittent 
correspondence  with  Strawberry  Hill;  for  on  Decemberll, 
1788,  we  find  Walpole  writing  to  her :  *  It  is  agreeable 
to  your  ladyship's  usual  goodness  to  honour  me  with 
another  letter ;  and  I  may  say  to  your  equity  too, 
after  I  had  proved  to  M.  Mercier,  by  the  list  of  dates 
of  my  letters,  that  it  was  not  mine,  but  the  post's 
fault,  that  you  did  not  receive  one  that  I  had  the 
honour  of  writing  to  you  above  a  year  ago.  Not, 
madam,  that  I  could  wonder  if  you  had  the  prudence 
to  drop  a  correspondence  with  an  old  superannuated 
man ;  who,  conscious  of  his  decay  [he  was  then  seventy- 
one],  has  had  the  decency  of  not  troubling  with  his 
dotages  persons  of  not  near  your  ladyship's  youth  and 
vivacity.  I  have  long  been  of  opinion  that  few  persons 
know  -when  to  die ;  I  am  not  so  English  as  to  mean 
when  to  despatch  themselves — no,  but  when  to  go  out 
of  the  world.  I  have  usually  applied  this  opinion  to 
those  who  have  made  a  considerable  figure ;  and  con- 
sequently it  was  not  adapted  to  myself.  Yet  even  we 
cyphers  ought  not  to  fatigue  the  public  scene  when 
we  become  lumber.  Thus,  being  quite  out  of  the 
question,  I  will  explain  my  maxim,  which  is  the  more 
wholesome  the  higher  it  is  addressed.  My  opinion 
172 


LADY  CRAVEN 

then  is,  that  when  any  person  has  shone  as  much  as 
is  possible  in  his  or  her  best  walk,  he  should  take  up 
his  Strulbrugism,  and  be  heard  of  no  more.  Instances 
will  be  still  more  explanatory.  Voltaire  ought  to  have 
pretended  to  die  after  Alzire,  Mahomet.,  and  Semiramis, 
and  not  have  produced  his  wretched  last  pieces  ;  Lord 
Chatham  should  have  closed  his  political  career  with 
his  immortal  war ;  and  how  weak  was  Garrick,  when 
he  had  quitted  the  stage,  to  limp  after  the  tatters  of 
fame  by  writing  and  reading  pitiful  poems ;  and  even 
by  sitting  to  read  plays  which  he  had  acted  with  such 
fire  and  energy  !  .  .  . 

4  We  have  just  received  the  works  of  an  author 
[Frederick  the  Great],  from  whom  I  find  I  am  to  receive 
much  less  entertainment  than  I  expected,  because  I 
shall  have  much  less  to  read  than  I  intended.  His 
Memoirs,  I  am  told,  are  almost  wholly  military ;  which, 
therefore,  I  shall  not  read ;  and  his  poetry  I  am  sure 
I  shall  not  look  at,  because  I  should  not  understand 
it.  What  I  saw  of  it  formerly  convinced  me  that  he 
would  not  have  been  a  poet,  even  if  he  had  written  in 
his  own  language ;  and  though  I  do  not  understand 
German,  I  am  told  it  is  a  fine  language;  and  I  can 
easily  believe  that  any  tongue  (not  excepting  our  old 
barbarous  Saxon,  which,  a  bit  of  an  antiquary  as  I 
am,  I  abhor)  is  more  harmonious  than  French.  It 
was  curious  absurdity,  therefore,  to  pitch  on  the  most 
unpoetic  language  in  Europe,  the  most  barren,  and  the 
most  clogged  with  difficulties.  I  have  heard  Russian 
and  Polish  sung,  and  both  sounded  musical ;  but  to 
abandon  one's  own  tongue,  and  not  adopt  Italian,  that 
is  even  sweeter,  softer,  and  more  copious  than  the  Latin, 
was  a  want  of  taste  that  I  should  think  could  not  be 

173 


LADY  CRAVEN 

applauded  even  by  a  Frenchman  born  in  Provence. 
But  what  a  language  is  the  French,  which  measures 
verses  by  feet  that  never  are  to  be  pronounced ;  which 
is  the  case  wherever  the  mute  e  is  found !  What 
poverty  of  various  sounds  for  rhyme,  when,  lest  similar 
cadences  should  too  often  occur,  their  mechanic  bards 
are  obliged  to  marry  masculine  and  feminine  termina- 
tions as  alternately  as  the  black-and-white  squares  of 
a  chess-board  ?  Nay,  will  you  believe  me,  madam — 
yes,  you  will,  for  you  may  convince  your  own  eyes — 
that  a  scene  of  Zaire  begins  with  three  of  the  most 
nasal  adverbs  that  ever  snorted  together  in  a  breath  ? 
Eiifin,  done,  desormais,  are  the  culprits  in  question. 
Enfin  done,  need  I  tell  your  ladyship  that  the  author 
I  alluded  to  at  the  beginning  of  this  long  tirade  is 
the  late  King  of  Prussia  ? 

'  I  am  conscious  that  I  have  taken  a  little  liberty  when 
I  excommunicate  a  language  in  which  your  ladyship  has 
condescended  to  write,  but  I  only  condemn  it  for  verse 
and  pieces  of  eloquence,  of  which  I  thought  it  alike 
incapable  until  I  read  Rousseau  of  Geneva.  It  is  a 
most  sociable  language,  and  charming  for  narrative  and 
epistles.  Yet,  write  as  well  as  you  will  in  it,  you  must 
be  liable  to  express  yourself  better  in  the  speech  that  is 
natural  to  you  ;  and  your  own  country  has  a  right  to 
understand  all  your  works,  and  is  jealous  of  their  not 
being  as  perfect  as  you  could  make  them.  Is  it  not 
more  creditable  to  be  translated  into  a  foreign  tongue 
than  into  your  own  ?  And  will  it  not  vex  you  to  hear 
the  translation  taken  for  the  original,  and  to  find 
vulgarisms  that  you  could  not  have  committed  yourself? 
But  I  have  done,  and  will  release  you,  madam,  only 
observing  that  you  flatter  me  with  a  vain  hope  when 
174 


LADY  CRAVEN 

you  tell  me  that  you  shall  return  to  England  some  time 
or  other.  Where  will  that  time  be  for  me  ?  And 
when  it  arrives,  shall  I  not  be  somewhere  else  ? '  .  .  . 

Lady  Craven's  Journey  through  the  Crimea  to  Con- 
stantinople does  not  appear  to  have  reached  England 
till  1789.  In  February  of  that  year  Walpole  writes  to 
Lady  Ossory  :  '  Lady  Craven's  Travels  I  received  from 
Robson  two  hours  ago.  Dodsley  brought  the  manu- 
script to  me  before  I  came  to  town,  but  I  positively 
refused  to  open  it,  though  he  told  me  my  name  was 
mentioned  several  times ;  but  I  was  conscious  how 
grievous  it  would  be  to  her  family  and  poor  daughters, 
and  therefore  persisted  in  having  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
I  own  I  have  now  impatiently  cut  the  leaves  in  search 
of  my  own  name,  and  am  delighted  at  finding  it  there 
but  thrice,  and  only  by  the  initial  letter.  When  I  have 
the  honour  of  seeing  your  ladyship  I  can  tell  you  many 
collateral  circumstances,  but  I  will  not  put  them  on 
paper.  I  fear  she  may  come  to  wish,  or  should,  that 
she  had  not  been  born  with  a  propensity  for  writing."1 
In  another  letter  to  the  same  lady  he  observes :  '  I  am 
sorry  my  noble  authoress's  Travels  do  not  please 
you,  madam  ;  in  truth,  I  fear  they  will  add  more  to 
her  present  celebrity  than  to  her  future  renown.  I 
even  doubt  whether  she  would  have  been  turned  into  a 
laurel  as  soon  by  running  away  from  Apollo  (which  was 
not  her  turn)  as  by  running  to  him.' 

Lady  Craven  made  Anspach  her  headquarters  for 
nearly  five  years.  The  winters  were  usually  passed  at 
Triesdorf,  the  royal  hunting-lodge,  about  three  leagues 
from  the  capital.  Here  she  followed  the  staghounds 
with  the  Margrave  in  the  morning,  played  cribbage 
with  the  Margravine  in  the  evening,  made  an  English 

175 


LADY  CRAVEN 

garden,  and  introduced  the  manufacture  of  Stilton 
cheese.  '  The  winter  following  my  arrival,''  says  her 
ladyship,  *  the  Margrave  wished  me  to  go  to  Naples  with 
him  for  a  few  months.  I  of  course  acceded  to  his  pro- 
position, and  we  set  off  with  my  son  Keppel.'  The 
party  were  warmly  welcomed  at  Naples,  where  the  Mar- 
grave was  a  favourite  with  the  royal  family.  'The 
Queen,'  writes  Lady  Craven,  '  took  such  a  fancy  to  me, 
that  she  made  me  spend  most  of  my  evenings  with  her, 
while  in  the  mornings  I  often  accompanied  the  King 
[Ferdinand  the  Fourth]  on  his  hunting  or  shooting 
parties.  My  adroitness  in  killing  game,  my  skill  in 
riding  on  horseback,  and  the  indifference  I  showed  about 
my  person  in  rain  or  wind,  endeared  me  much  to  the 
King.  Sir  William  Hamilton,  who  early  in  life  had 
experienced  the  kindness  of  my  relations,  returned  that 
kindness  in  my  person  by  saying  such  handsome  things 
about  me  at  Court  that  I  soon  became  a  general 
favourite.  The  Margrave  was  never  so  happy  as 
during  our  stay  at  Naples.  As  he  excelled  in  all 
manly  exercises,  he  was  not  a  little  gratified  to  display 
me  as  one  accustomed  to  these  sports.1 

Lady  Craven  speaks  in  high  terms  of  the  under- 
standing, the  versatility,  and  the  youthful  ardour  of 
Sir  William,  who  had  then  reached  the  age  of  three- 
score years  and  ten ;  but  on  the  subject  of  Emma 
Harte  she  preserves  a  discreet  silence.  The  reason  for 
this  reticence  may  be  found  in  a  letter  of  Walpole's  to 
the  Miss  Berrys.  '  What,'  he  asks,  '  will  the  great 
Duke  think  of  our  Amazons  if  he  has  letters  opened,  as 
the  Emperor  was  wont  ?  One  of  our  Camillas,  but  in  a 
freer  style,  I  hear  he  saw  (I  fancy  just  before  your 
arrival) ;  and  he  must  have  wondered  at  the  familiarity 
176 


LADY  CRAVEN 

of  the  dame  and   the  nincompoophood  of  her  Prince. 

Sir  William  is  arrived ,  his  Nymph  of  the  Attitudes 

[Lady  Hamilton]  was  too  prudish  to  visit  the  rambling 
peeress/ l 

The  rambling  peeress  enjoyed  herself  mightily  at 
Naples,  where  there  were  magnificent  operas,  continual 
masquerades,  and  every  kind  of  pleasure  and  luxury. 
She  and  her  Prince  intended  to  stay  in  Italy  until  April 
or  May,  but  one  morning  during  Carnival  time  Lady 
Craven  received  a  message  that  the  Margrave  desired  to 
speak  to  her  at  once.  She  went  to  his  room,  and  found 
him  in  great  agitation.  Sending  away  the  servants, 
and  kissing  her  hand,  he  said,  '  You  have  conducted 
yourself  like  a  sister  indeed ;  but  I  have  one  request  to 
make  to  you1  (he  held  a  letter  in  his  hand,  which 
shook  with  anger).  'I  must  go  to  Berlin  incognito. 
Will  you  go  with  me  ?  It  is  the  only  sacrifice  of  your 
time  I  shall  ever  require  of  you.'  He  explained  that  an 
infamous  plot  had  been  formed  at  Anspach  to  create 
discontent.  The  affair  demanded  his  immediate  pre- 
sence at  Berlin,  but  he  wished  to  go  without  the 
knowledge  of  his  ministers.  Lady  Craven,  who  guessed 
that  the  letter  was  about  herself,  as  the  Margrave  never 
told  her' its  contents,  begged  him  to  be  calm,  and  pro- 
mised to  do  all  that  he  wished.  The  suite  was  sent 
home,  and  she  and  the  Margrave  paid  a  flying  visit 
incognito  to  Berlin.  On  their  return  to  Anspach,  the 
Secretary  of  State  was  dismissed  after  his  papers  had 
been  seized,  and  the  other  ministers  took  an  early  oppor- 
tunity of  assuring  Lady  Craven  of  their  profound  respect 
and  esteem.  '  The  wretches  ! '  exclaimed  the  Margrave, 

1  This  refers  to  Lady  Craven's  second  visit  to  Naples  in  1791. 

M  177 


LADY  CRAVEN 

when  he  told  her  about  the  confiscated  correspondence, 
in  which  she  figured  as  '  the  Ultramontane/  '  You, 
whose  conduct  proves  that  as  a  mother  or  a  sister  your 
whole  time  is  occupied  in  creating  delight  here,  where 
dulness  and  monotony  have  taken  up  their  abode ! ' 
The  unjust  suspicions  of  his  people  against  her  deter- 
mined the  Margrave,  says  Lady  Craven,  to  cede  his 
dominions  to  Prussia,  a  resolution  which  she  declares 
that  she  did  her  best  to  combat. 

In  an  unpublished  letter  dated  Triesdorf,  September 
12,  1789,  and  addressed  to  an  English  duke — pos- 
sibly Portland — Lady  Craven  says  :  '  I  have  received 
your  Graced  letter,  which  bespeaks  the  goodness  and 
amiability  of  your  heart,  which  I  have  long  known ; 
and  I  answer  it,  not  to  settle  myself  upon  you  as  a  cor- 
respondent, but  to  ease  your  shoulders  of  any  burden 
whatever  upon  the  subject  I  wrote  to  you  upon.  I 
have  this  very  day  received  some  intelligence  from  Berlin 
which  makes  me  believe,  by  a  channel  quite  different 
from  yours  and  mine,  that  I  shall  have  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  my  worthy  friend  the  Margrave  decored  when 
an  opportunity  offers.  You  are  very  civil  about  my 
talents,  and  I  wish  I  had  lived  in  England  with  people 
whose  tempers  had  been  as  much  pleased  with  them  as 
the  Margrave  seems  thankful  to  me  for  diffusing  a  little 
elegant  gaiety  in  his  Court.  He  is  an  honest,  sensible 
man,  and  deserves  the  love  and  esteem  of  everybody  who 
approaches  him.  And  if,  like  his  uncle,  he  does  not 
incessantly  court  the  Muses,  he  knows  the  value  of  those 
who  have  some  intercourse  with  them.  I  wish  your 
Grace  may  long  be  prevented  from  renewing  your  con- 
nection on  Mount  Parnassus  by  more  solid  and  heartfelt 
employments,  and  be  assured  no  laurels  bestowed  by 
178 


LADY  CRAVEN 

Apollo  can  give  half  the  pleasure  as  wreaths  of  myrtle 
given  from  the  fair  hand  of  your  Duchess.1 

In  1790  the  Margrave  informed  Lady  Craven  that 
he  had  been  invited  to  go  to  Berlin  for  the  Carnival, 
and  that  she  was  desired  to  accompany  him  as  his 
adopted  sister.  As  usual,  the  Margravine  stayed  at 
home,  but  she  took  an  affectionate  farewell  of  her 
pseudo  sister-in-law,  and  exhorted  her  to  dance  a  minuet 
at  Berlin  and  show  the  Prussian  royalties  what  dancing 
really  was.  Lady  Craven  found  the  Princess  Amelia's 
palace  prepared  for  her  at  Berlin ;  and  the  King  of 
Prussia,  calling  on  her  the  day  after  her  arrival,  said, 
'  This  is  yours.  You  are  my  adopted  sister  as  well  as 
the  Margrave's."1  His  Majesty  no  doubt  thought  that 
the  Englishwoman  was  worth  conciliating,  for  the  real 
object  of  the  Margrave's  visit  to  Berlin  was  to  arrange 
for  the  sale  of  his  principalities  to  Prussia ;  and  to 
avoid  arousing  suspicion,  the  conferences  were  held  in 
Lady  Craven's  apartment.  During  the  three  months 
she  spent  in  Berlin  she  lived  entirely  with  the  royal 
family,  the  Duke  of  Brunswick-Oels  being  told  off  as 
her  special  cavalier.  The  Minister  of  Finance,  Bern- 
sprunger,  was  charged  by  the  King  to  offer  her  lands 
and  titles  for  herself  and  her  boy ;  but  she  replied  that 
she  could  not  accept  anything,  because  she  was  not 
legally  parted  from  her  husband. 

Before  leaving  Berlin  Lady  Craven  heard  that  her 
husband  had  been  seized  with  a  fit  at  Bath,  and  was  in 
a  critical  condition ;  while  on  the  journey  home  the 
Margrave  was  met  at  Bareith  with  the  news  of  the 
Margravine's  death.  After  three  months'  mourning  the 
Margrave  decided  to  go  to  England,  whence  he  intended 
to  announce  his  resignation  of  the  Margraviate  to  his 

179 


LADY  CRAVEN 

subjects.      It  was  supposed  that  he  had  some  thoughts 
of  marrying    an    English    princess ;    but   his    minister, 
Seckendorf,    wrote    to     Madame     Schwellenberg,    Miss 
Burney's  old  enemy,  to  say  that  a  pair  of  fine  eyes  at 
the  Court  of  Anspach  would  prevent  the  Margrave  from 
marrying   as   long   as   their   influence   continued.     The 
Prince  was  furious  at  reports  being  spread  abroad  of 
his    re-marriage,    and    intercepted    the    correspondence 
between    Seckendorf    and    Madame    Schwellenberg,    in 
which    the    minister    represented    Lady   Craven    in    an 
odious  light.     As  the  letters  were  intended  for  the  eye 
of  the  Queen,  Lady  Craven  professes  to  attribute  to  their 
influence  her  Majesty's  subsequent  conduct  towards  her. 
On  arriving  in  London  in  the  summer  of  1791,  her 
ladyship    does    not    appear    to    have  met   with  a   very 
cordial  reception  from  the  members  of  her  own  family. 
In    a   letter  to    the    Miss    Berrys,   dated   August    23, 
179l,Walpole  says:  'You,  who  have  had  a  fever  with 
fetes,  had    rather    hear    the    history   of   the    soi-dlsant 
Margravine.      She  has  been  in  England  with  her  foolish 
Prince,  and  not  only  notified  their  marriage  to  the  Earl 
[of  Berkeley],  her  brother,  who  did  not  receive  it  pro- 
pitiously, but  his  Highness  informed  his  lordship  by  a 
letter  that  they  have  a  usage  in  his  country  of  taking 
a  wife  with   the   left  hand  ;    that  he  had  espoused  his 
lordship's  sister  in  that  manner,  and  intends,  as  soon  as 
she   shall    be   a    widow,  to   marry   her   with    his    right 
hand   also.      The  Earl   replied   that  he   knew   she   was 
married   to   an  English  peer,  a   most  respectable  man, 
and   can  know  nothing  of  her  marrying  any  other  man, 
and  so  they  are  gone  to  Lisbon.' 

Lady   Craven's   account  of  the  matter  is  that  Lord 
Berkeley  was  so  enraged  with  her  for  not  wishing  to  live 
180 


LADY  CRAVEN 

with  her  husband  again,  that  he  vowed  he  would  never 
forgive  her.  He  had  also  advised  Lord  Craven  when 
the  time  came  for  Keppel  to  be  given  up  by  his  mother 
to  stop  the  payment  of  her  jointure ;  but  Lord  Craven 
had  replied,  '  God  forbid  I  should  ever  do  that !  Whose 
fortune  might  she  not  have  where  she  bestowed  her 
society  ? 1  Fearing  persecution,  Lady  Craven  placed 
Keppel  at  Harrow  under  a  feigned  name,  and  then 
departed  with  the  Margrave  for  Lisbon.  They  were 
detained  at  Calais  for  three  days  because  (the  reason  is 
not  obvious)  Louis  xvi.  had  fled  from  Paris,  and  it  was 
not  until  he  had  been  brought  back  from  Varennes  that 
they  were  allowed  to  hire  a  packet  and  proceed  on  their 
voyage.  At  Lisbon  all  the  foreign  ministers  visited  Lady 
Craven  except  the  representative  of  England,  Mr.  Edward 
Walpole.  The  Queen  of  Portugal  was  kind  to  the '  rambling 
peeress,1  declaring,  '  I  will  protect  her,  and  the  Queen  of 
England  as  a  mother  should  protect  and  not  persecute 
her.'  Lady  Craven  observes,  '  There  were  two  distinct 
parties  at  Lisbon.  All  the  good  and  spiritual  people, 
with  the  party  attached  to  the  Queen,  were  for  me  ; 
while  the  base  and  corrupted  levelled  the  shafts  of  their 
malice  against  me.1 

On  September  26,  1791,  Lord  Craven  died  at 
Lausanne,  and  on  October  30  Lady  Craven  was  married 
to  the  Margrave.  '  I  felt  myself  at  liberty,1  she  writes, 
*  to  act  as  I  thought  proper,  and  accepted  the  hand  of  the 
Margrave  without  fear  or  remorse.  We  were  married 
in  the  presence  of  a  hundred  persons,  and  attended  by 
all  f-he  naval  officers,  who  were  quite  delighted  to  assist 
as  witnesses.1  Walpole  announces  the  news  to  Lady 
Ossory  in  a  letter  dated  November  23.  '  Oh,  I  this 
moment  recollect  to  tell  your  ladyship,1  he  writes,  '  that 

181 


LADY  CRAVEN 

Lady  Craven  received  the  news  of  her  husband's  death 
on  a  Friday,  went  into  weeds  on  Saturday,  and  into 
white  satin  and  many  diamonds  on  Sunday,  and  in  that 
vestal  trim  was  married  to  the  Margrave  of  Anspach  by 
my  cousin's  chaplain,  though  he  and  Mrs.  Walpole 
excused  themselves  from  being  present.  The  bride 
excused  herself  for  having  so  few  diamonds ;  they  had 
been  the  late  Margravine's,  but  she  is  to  have  many 
more,  and  will  soon  set  out  for  England,  where  they 
shall  astonish  the  public  by  living  in  a  style  of  magnifi- 
cence unusual,  as  they  are  richer  than  anybody  in  this 
country.  The  Dukes  of  Bedford,  Marlborough,  and 
Northumberland  may  hide  their  diminished  rays.' 

The  newly  married  couple,  after  a  short  visit  to 
Madrid,  travelled  to  England,  passing  as  quickly  as 
possible  through  France,  where  the  Revolution  was  then 
raging,  many  of  Lady  Craven's  old  friends  being  in  a 
piteous  case.  On  her  arrival  in  London  the  new  Mar- 
gravine received  a  letter  from  her  daughters  to  the 
effect  that,  '  With  due  deference  to  the  Margravine  of 
Anspach,  the  Miss  Cravens  inform  her  that  out  of  respect 
to  their  father  they  cannot  wait  upon  her.'  Her  eldest 
son  neglected  her,  and  Lord  Berkeley  wrote  her  'an 
absurd  letter,'  full  of  reproaches  on  account  of  her 
marrying  the  Margrave  so  soon  after  the  death  of  her 
husband.  Worst  of  all,  Queen  Charlotte  refused  to 
receive  her  at  Court  as  Margravine  of  Anspach.  The 
Margrave  was  much  hurt  at  this  decision,  and  asked  his 
wife  what  possible  reason  there  could  be  for  such  an 
affront,  but  she  confessed  herself  wholly  unable  to 
account  for  it.  She  had  intended  to  be  presented  at 
Court  as  a  Princess  of  the  German  Empire,  having  been 
created  Princess  Berkeley  by  the  Emperor  Joseph,  and 
182 


LADY  CRAVEN 

went  so  far  as  to  draw  up  an  address  to  the  House  of 
Lords,  setting  forth  her  rights  and  dignities,  but  was 
persuaded  to  abandon  her  intention  of  sending  it  in. 

The  Margrave  bought  the  large  villa  on  the  Thames 
at  Hammersmith,  which  was  formerly  the  property  of 
Bubb  Dodmgton,  and  was  called  by  him  La  Trappe. 
It  was  now  renamed  Brandenburgh  House,  and  a  theatre 
was  added  to  it.  The  Margrave  also  bought  Benham 
from  his  stepson,  which  had  been  in  the  property  of  the 
Craven  family  since  the  time  of  the  first  Earl,  and  gave 
it  to  his  wife.  The  Hon.  Grantley  Berkeley,  Lady 
Craven's  nephew,  describes  in  his  Recollections  the 
magnificent  masquerade  which  was  given  as  a  house- 
warming  at  Brandenburgh  House.  To  this  the  most 
distinguished  of  the  English  and  foreign  nobility  were 
invited ;  but,  sad  to  say,  the  guests  behaved  very  badly, 
breaking  plate-glass  mirrors,  and  stealing  or  damaging 
portions  of  the  costly  hangings  and  chair-covers.  Mr. 
Berkeley  tells  us  that  his  aunt  still  wrote  plays  of  a 
tenderly  sentimental  kind,  and  never  failed,  though  past 
her  first  youth,  to  play  the  young  and  interesting 
heroines,  keeping  her  assistants  as  much  as  possible  in 
the  background.1 

Her  most  intimate  friends,  according  to  her  nephew, 
were  those  eccentric  people  whose  peculiarities  of  manner 
and  dress  were  caricatured  by  Gillray  and  Rowland- 
son.  Her  corps  dramatique  consisted,  besides  her  son 
Keppel,  of  Lords  Barrymore,  Blessington,  and  Chol- 
mondeley,  of  Lady  Albinia  Cholmondeley  and  Lady 
Buckinghamshire,  but  professional  aid  was  sometimes 
called  in  in  the  persons  of  Mrs.  Abington  and  M. 

1  A  curious  account  of  the  theatricals  at  Brandenburgh  House  is  given 
in  the  Reminiscences  of  Henry  Angelo. 

183 


LADY  CRAVEN 

Le  Tescier.  On  one  occasion  Mrs.  Abington  played  with 
Lady  Craven  in  The  Provoked  Wife,  when  the  actress's 
speeches  were  *  cut '  in  order  to  give  more  prominence  to 
the  role  of  the  heroine,  taken  of  course  by  the  hostess. 
As  might  be  expected,  there  was  a  row  royal,  and  Mrs. 
Abington's  lines  were  restored  to  her.  In  the  Lady's 
Monthly  Museum  for  June  1798  there  is  a  paragraph 
to  the  effect  that  'the  celebrated  tragedy  of  Tlie 
Robbers,  translated  from  the  German,  with  considerable 
emendations  by  the  Hon.  Keppel  Craven,  was  performed 
at  this  theatre  (Brandenburgh  House).  A  most  brilliant 
and  crowded  audience  attended,  and  expressed  the 
greatest  satisfaction  at  the  merit  of  the  piece  and  the 
performers.  Amelia  was  performed  with  all  that  taste, 
pathos,  and  classical  propriety  which  so  eminently  dis- 
tinguishes the  sensibility  and  accomplished  mind  of  the 
Margravine.  .  .  .  The  Margravine  spoke  a  most  pointed 
and  brilliant  epilogue  with  a  charming  excellence  that 
was  irresistibly  impressive  on  the  feelings  of  the 
audience.1 

In  1806  the  Margrave  died  of  a  pulmonary  com- 
plaint, being  then  seventy  years  of  age.  His  wife,  who 
was  the  only  person  mentioned  in  his  will,  says  of  him : 
*  A  better  man  never  existed.  Nothing  could  divert 
him  from  what  was  right,  none  could  more  easily  for- 
give. .  .  .  He  was  so  perfectly  genteel  and  princely  in 
his  air,  that  even  with  his  great-coat  and  round  hat  the 
sovereign  was  perceived.'  In  Lady  Craven's  Autobiography 
there  is  an  engraving  of  a  profile  of  the  Margrave  in  bas- 
relief,  modelled  by  herself  when  at  Naples,  which  represents 
a  grotesquely  ugly  man,  with  a  nose  of  immense  length, 
and  a  foolish  expression.  This,  which  certainly  cannot 
have  been  an  idealised  portrait,  is  described  by  the  artist 
184 


LADY  CRAVEN 

as  an  excellent  likeness.  The  Margrave's  chief  passion 
throughout  his  life  was  for  horses.  He  kept  a  magni- 
ficent stud  at  Brandenburgh  House,  and  his  last  request  to 
his  wife  on  his  deathbed  was  that  a  favourite  grey  horse 
which  was  in  training  for  the  Derby  might  run  whether 
its  master  were  alive  or  dead.  Christian  Frederick  was 
buried  at  Benham  in  a  splendid  mausoleum,  the  marble 
for  which  was  brought  from  Italy,  and  cost  five  thousand 
pounds. 

Unlike  most  ladies  of  her  type,  the  Margravine  did 
not  turn  devote  in  her  declining  years,  nor  occupy  her 
time  in  good  works.  She  was  fortunate  enough  to 
possess  several  hobbies,  which  her  great  wealth  and 
unshakable  self-complacency  enabled  her  to  ride  with 
triumphant  ease  and  enjoyment.  The  best  methods 
of  fruit-cultivation  and  the  desirability  of  filling  up 
canals  were  her  chief  fads,  but  she  felt  herself  perfectly 
competent  to  regulate  any  other  matters  that  came 
under  her  notice,  from  the  assessment  of  the  poor-rates 
to  the  paving  of  the  streets.  From  her  published  corre- 
spondence with  Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe,  and  some 
unpublished  letters  to  Dr.  Taylor,  secretary  of  the 
Society  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  we  are  enabled  to  gain 
occasional  glimpses  into  the  latter  portion  of  her  life. 

Of  her  children,  with  the  exception  of  Keppel,who  seems 
to  have  been  an  affectionate  and  dutiful  son,  she  saw  little 
or  nothing.  Her  eldest  son  William,  created  Viscount 
Uffington  and  Earl  of  Craven  in  1801,  offended  the 
Margravine  deeply  (in  spite  of  her  dramatic  tastes)  by 
marrying '  Miss  Louisa  Brunton,  the  popular  actress. 
The  eldest  daughter,  Elizabeth,  who  was  reconciled  to 
her  mother  soon  after  the  return  of  the  latter  to 
England,  married  a  Mr.  Maddocks,  and  died  in  1799. 

185 


LADY  CRAVEN 

Maria,  the  second  daughter,  married  the  Earl  of  Sefton, 
and  died  in  1851  ;  while  the  youngest,  Arabella, 
married  General  the  Hon.  Frederick  St.  John,  and  died 
in  1819. 

The  Margravine  seems  to  have  divided  her  time 
between  Benham  and  Brandenburgh  House,  with  occa- 
sional flights  to  the  Continent.  She  had  various 
grievances  on  the  subject  of  her  fortune,  the  income 
which,  she  asserted,  was  due  to  her  from  the  King 
of  Prussia,  not  being  forthcoming.  In  an  unpublished 
letter,  dated  August  11,  1806,  and  addressed  to  Mr. 
Jackson,  then  English  Minister  at  the  Court  of  Berlin, 
she  writes :  '  I  did  not  expect  or  care  about  the  Palace 
at  Berlin,  but  there  were  things  of  much  more  con- 
sequence to  me  which  the  King  of  Prussia  ought  to 
do ;  though  positively  the  late  King  gave  the  Palace  to 
me  for  my  life,  as  well  as  to  the  Margrave.  I  have  at 
last  been  very  ill  these  two  days,  which  I  have  expected 
this  great  while,  as  I  have  never  had  a  moment's  rest 
since  the  Margrave's  death — everybody  around  me,  instead 
of  considering  my  situation,  have  not  given  me  time  to 
breathe — demands  of  every  sort,  fancies  of  all  kinds.  If 
you  can  give  me  any  hopes  of  a  Peace,  you  will  do  me 
good.  I  hear  Prussia  has  or  will  make  avseparate  Peace 
with  France,  of  which  I  never  doubted  whenever  it  suited 
her.  I  confess  I  am  astonished  that  any  man  could  take 
Pitt's  place  on  his  shoulders  without  first  pointing  out 
the  absolute  ignorance  he  was  master  of  as  to  foreign 
affairs — deprecating  the  system — and  then  boldly  pro- 
ceeding on  quite  a  new  plan.  For  me,  who  am  not  a 
man,  but  wish  my  country  not  to  be  totally  ruined,  I 
shall  keep  my  eyes  off  all  it  does,  that  I  may  not  lament 
more  than  I  have  for  years  the  best  of  Princes1  partiality 
186 


LADY  CRAVEN 

for  it.  ...  I  don't  know  at  all  in  the  general  confu- 
sion who  your  ministerial  friends  are,  but  this  I  can  tell 
you  that  the  ministry  is  all  divided,  and  will  not  hold 
together  long.' 

In  this  year  1806  the  Margravine  appears  to  have 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Dr.  Taylor,  secretary  to  the 
Society  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  for  which  body  she  wrote 
a  treatise  on  the  art  of  pruning  fruit-trees.  In  November 
1806  she  writes  to  the  secretary  from  Benham  :l  'I  hope 
you  do  not  forget  my  patriotic  scheme  of  introducing,, 
or  rather  reviving,  the  art  of  pruning  trees.  The  season 
is  now  come  for  peach  and  pear  trees,  and  I  am  very  busy 
here.  I  have  a  young  eleve  whom  I  wish  you  to  provide 
for,  as  making  an  Ambulating  Pruner  such  as  they  have 
in  France.  Pray  let  me  know  if  you  have  done  anything 
towards  this — a  thing  I  think  of  the  greatest  consequence 
to  the  comforts  as  well  as  pockets  of  all  people  who  have 
fruit-trees.'  Apparently  the  idea  did  not '  catch  on,'  for 
in  a  later  letter  the  Margravine  complains  :  '  I  despair  of 
ever  seeing  anybody  think  of  fruit.  There  seems  to  be  a 
sort  of  apathy  about  people  that  precludes  any  hope  of 
preventing  the  English  from  gradually  sinking  into  pro- 
found ignorance  about  many  useful  things.  ...  I  have 
spoken  to  many,  who  seem  to  think  that  a  man,  because 
he  is  called  a  gardener,  is  not  to  be  affronted  or  put  out 
of  humour  by  having  his  trees  pruned.' 

The  Margravine  could  certainly  not  be  accused  of 
apathy  in  the  propagation  of  her  pet  theories.  Having 
made  up  her  mind  that  Burgundy  could  be  manufac- 
tured from  English-grown  grapes,  she  planted  vines  at 
Hammersmith,  and  in  May  1808  writes  to  Dr.  Taylor : 
'  Would  it  be  satisfactory  to  you  and  the  other  members 
1  This  and  the  following  letters  to  Dr.  Taylor  are  now  first  published. 

187 


LADY  CRAVEN 

of  the  Society  that  I  should  bring  a  sample  of  the 
Burgundy  I  made  last  autumn,  for  though  it  is  not  yet 
fit  to  drink,  the  colour  and  flavour  might  be  seen ;  and 
if  you  had  any  French  person  from  Burgundy  present,  he 
might  give  his  opinion.1  In  an  undated  letter,  pro- 
bably written  a  few  weeks  later,  she  says  :  '  I  have  the 
greatest  satisfaction  in  assuring  you  that  the  Burgundy 
I  made  here  from  my  own  grapes  has  succeeded  per- 
fectly. I  have  just  drawn  it  out  of  the  cask,  and  I  beg 
you  will  make  this  fact  be  known  to  the  Society,  and  if 
you  choose  it  I  will  write  down  an  account  of  the  time 
and  manner  it  was  made  in  (last  autumn)  and  every 
circumstance  relative  to  it.  I  made  two  sorts — one  of 
the  most  indifferent  grapes,  and  one  of  those  good 
branches  I  could  save  from  the  all-devouring  sparrows. 
...  I  claim  some  token  of  reward  from  the  Society  for 
having  persevered  in  planting  the  Burgundy  grape, 
having  it  pruned,  and  making  two  sorts  of  Burgundy 
wine,  which  I  have  bottled  off.  By  two  sorts  I  mean 
that  the  indifferent  grapes  have  made  an  inferior  sort, 
which  I  confess  I  imagined  I  should  have  found  vinegar, 
but  which  is  a  very  palatable  Burgundy  of  a  lighter 
colour  than  the  other,  which  is  of  as  bright  a  colour 
and  good  a  flavour  as  French  Burgundy.  ...  I  shall 
thank  you  to  have  it  inserted  in  all  the  newspapers  that 
good  Burgundy  has  been  made  here.  The  ignorance 
and  obstinacy  I  have  had  to  overcome  from  the  moment 
I  planted  vines  have  given  me  so  much  trouble  that  I 
deserve  to  reap  the  only  reward  I  wish — that  my  country 
should  know  it.' 

Dr.  Taylor  apparently  thought  that  the  Margravine's 
treatise  on  the  Art  of  Pruning  deserved  a  medal,  for  in 
May  1809  she  writes  to  him  :  'I  am  much  obliged  to 
188 


LADY  CRAVEN 

you  for  your  politeness  in  having  thought  my  observa- 
tions worthy  of  a  medal,  but  I  take  the  part  of  those 
who  have  thwarted  your  gallantry.  I  have  invented 
nothing.  I  have  humbly  reverted  back  to  that  method 
of  managing  fruit-trees  which  much  study  and  experience 
have  proved  to  be  the  best  in  France,  where  such  study 
and  such  experience  could  only  be  acquired  by  experi- 
ments which  could  only  be  made  in  the  Jardin  du  Roi 
and  the  rich  abbeys.  If  Providence  had  made  me  a 
man  instead  of  a  woman,  I  believe  I  should  have  pruned 
many  glutton  branches  (branches  gourmandes),  which  end 
in  the  ruin  or  premature  decay  of  things  of  more  conse- 
quence than  a  fruit-tree.  However,  as  I  am  destined 
by  nature  to  submit  to  the  Law  of  Moses  and  the 
manners  of  Englishmen,  which  makes  me  an  ox  or  an 
ass  or  any  other  thing  subject  to  the  dangers  of  being 
coveted  or  persecuted,  I  shall  with  all  the  constancy  and 
gaiety  of  mind  Heaven  has  blessed  me  with,  go  on  in  com- 
municating through  your  hands  my  observations  on  fruit. 
*  I  must  beg  of  you  to  assemble  a  Committee  of  your 
best  chemists  and  profound  scholars  in  the  effects  of 
evaporation,  stagnation,  and  putrefaction,  to  resolve 
this  question  :  I  much  suspect  the  multiplied  navigable 
cuts  so  wantonly  encouraged  for  many  years  in  this 
country,  which,  being  an  island,  had  already  incon- 
veniences from  damp  and  cold  atmosphere,  have  caused 
the  very  dismal  change  I  have  gradually  perceived  in  the 
climate  within  these  few  years.  One  material  reason  I 
have  for  so  thinking  is  the  observation  I  have  made  that 
near  a  river  that  ebbs  and  flows  as  my  beloved  Thames 
does,  the  air  is  dry  and  wholesome ;  and  the  nearer 
everything  is  placed  to  such  a  river,  the  less  it  is  affected 
by  damp.  I  have  other  reasons  for  supposing  that  our 

189 


LADY  CRAVEN 

ugly  ditches  called  navigations  have  injured  that  which, 
unless  it  is  as  good  as  we  can  have  it,  my  pruning  will  be 
of  little  service — I  mean  the  air.  I  would  wish  much 
reflection  and  calculation  should  precede  any  answer 
I  may  get  on  this  subject — a  very  serious  one  to  this 
country,  I  assure  you,  where  those  native  plants  called 
men  to  be  wise  must  be  healthy,  and  to  be  good  must 
be  happy,  and  there  is  no  happiness  without  health."1 

The  Margravine  not  only  took  the  climate  and  the 
orchards  of  her  country  under  her  protection,  but  gave 
an  enthusiastic  welcome  to  any  eccentric  novelty  that 
might  be  brought  to  her  notice.  Writing  to  Dr. 
Taylor  from  Southampton,  where  she  had  a  small  house, 
she  tells  him  :  '  I  have  just  come  from  Petworth,  where 
I  saw  Mr.  Biddulph,  a  neighbour  of  Lord  Egremonfs, 
who  wishes  to  belong  to  our  Society,  as  he  believed  most 
credulously  in  the  extinction  of  all  Golden  Pippins,  in 
the  loss  of  the  mother  plant  (what  nonsense  !).  I  am 
very  desirous  he  should  return  to  common  sense,  and 
believe  that  though  Mother  Eve  is  dead,  I  am  alive. 
I  could  not  do  better  than  recommend  him  to  get 
acquainted  with  you,  when  he  will  return  to  truth,  and 
eat  good  apples.  I  find  Lord  Egremont  belongs  to 
us.  I  raved  about  the  woollen  sacks  to  him.  I  have 
some  thoughts  of  having  harness  made  of  woollen  ropes 
dyed  black,  and  by  my  example  introducing  them  for 
posting  all  over  this  kingdom  ;  for  in  this  last  journey  of 
mine,  as  in  many  others,  I  have  been  much  delayed  by 
leather  breaking.  You  may  think  me  in  jest ;  I  never 
was  more  serious  in  my  life ;  but  my  nature  is  so 
cheerful,  that  I  cannot  talk  of  anything  that  pleases  me 
much  very  gravely.  Therefore,  I  beg  you  will  mention 
my  idea  to  the  gentleman  who,  in  my  opinion,  deserves 
190 


to  have  his  statue  cast  in  gold  for  what  he  has  already 
done  with  fleeces.  Give  my  compliments  to  him,  and 
say  if  anything  I  could  use  of  his  manufactory  could 
hold  up  to  my  country  the  advantages  I  see  in  his 
discovery,  I  would  not  disdain  to  wear  one  of  his  sacks 
as  a  shawl,  and  recommend  the  hanging  with  some  of 
his  ropes  all  those  who  do  not  venerate  him  as  I  do.1 

Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe  seems  to  have  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  Margravine  in  1809,  through  her 
son  Keppel,  who  was  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends. 

*  Everybody  knows,'  he  writes  on  the  fly-leaf  of  a  volume 
of  her  autograph  letters,  '  that  she  was  the  daughter  of 
Lord  Berkeley,  and  afterwards  married  to  Lord  Craven. 
When  I  was  acquainted  with  her  she  had  the  remains  of 
much    beauty,    which   she   disfigured    with   an   immense 
quantity  of  rouge  and   burnt  cork,  as,  I  think,  on  her 
eyebrows.     She   was   very  graceful,  and   could   assume, 
when  she  pleased,  the  manners  of  the  best  times ;  she 
composed  music  prettily,  but  spoilt  her  songs  by  singing 
them  with  a  cracked  voice ;  she  danced  well,  and  was  an 
excellent  shot.     I  am  told  that  she  never  was  a  toler- 
able actress,  though  fond  of  exhibiting  herself  on  the 
stage.   .  .  .   Her  beauty,  her  talents,  her  good  fortune, 
and  her  bad  temper  created  her  numerous  enemies.     She 
makes  a  figure  in  many  scandalous  works,  such  as   The 
Memoirs   of'  the   Due   de   Lauzun,    The  Female   Jockey 
Club,  etc.1     Sharpe   made   a   charming  drawing   of  the 
Margravine,    which    represents    her    as    a    very    pretty 
and   picturesque  woman,  apparently  of  not  more  than 
four-  or  five-and-thirty. 

In  December  1809  the  Margravine  writes  to  Sharpe  : 

*  Keppel   tells    me  you  mean   positively  to   come   here, 
which  I  am  very  glad  of,  as  I  cannot  help  auguring  well 

191 


LADY  CRAVEN 

of  a  person  who,  in  such  times  as  these,  could,  de  son 
propre  chef,  chuse  the  time  and  the  people  and  the 
manners  in  Louis  xiv/s  reign  to  make  them  his  recrea- 
tion ;  for  I  am  quite  of  La  Rochefoucalfs  or  La 
Bruyere1s  opinion — '  qu'une  bonne  education  est  la  vraie 
religion  mondaine1 — to  believe  in  which,  and  more,  to 
practise,  would  prevent  those  eternal  dissensions  in 
families,  and  those  quarrels  in  society,  which  render  it 
impossible  to  find  society  in  this  country — and  Keppel 
tells  me  I  shall  delight  you  by  telling  you  stories  about 
my  great-aunt,  Lady  Albemarle,  who  saw  the  Duchess 
of  Portsmouth,  and  other  great-aunts  and  uncles  who 
have  seen  those  who  were  their  models.1 

In  February  1810  she  writes  again  :  '  I  wonder  what 
he  [Keppel]  will  say  to  the  Morning  Herald,  that  has 
begun  a  series  of  impertinent  falsehoods  against  me 
which,  I  trust,  will  amount  at  last  to  give  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  punishing  them.  If  I  wrote  like  my  ancestors, 
I  should  pass  unnoticed  perhaps.  I  think  the  liberty  of 
the  press  very  oppressing;  and  as  everything  in  the 
political  world  tends  to  put  England  out  of  Europe,  I 
believe  I  must  go  out  of  England  to  find  civilisation. 
.  .  .  All  who  wish  me  well  are  delighted  at  my  having 
escaped  from  a  Prussian  robbery,  for  such  was  Prince 
Ferdinand's  claim  to  deprive  me  of  what  the  Margrave 
left  me  at  Anspach.  I  am  told  London  is  very  dull ; 
everything  is  carried  on  in  a  dark  lanthorn  way ;  every- 
thing is  a  mystery,  a  secret !  You  meet  people,  but 
they  turn  the  blind  against  your  eyes.  I  have  some 
idea  there  will  be  a  regency  or  something.1 

In  the  spring  of  1811  the  Margravine,  who  had  little 
toleration  for  her  sister  scribes,   writes  to  assure   Mr. 
Sharpe  that  '  the  Berrys1  letters  of  Mrs.  du  DefFand  are 
192 


LADY  CRAVEN 

a  great  catchpenny.  The  notes  which  give  information 
relative  to  the  French  families  and  people  are  most 
of  them  false.  Nothing  can  be  so  absurd  too  as  an 
English  preface  to  a  French  book.  .  .  .  The  Duke  of 
Clarence  wants  to  marry  the  gentle,  elegant,  and  truth- 
telling  widow  ycleped  the  Countess  of  Berkeley.  The 
whole  world  is  gone  mad ;  and  I  have  more  reason  than 
ever  for  congratulating  the  Margravine  of  Anspach,  your 
friend  and  admirer,  that  she  had  a  governess  who  formed 
her  mind  of  peaceful  and  humble  materials,  for  I  think 
virtues  are  corks  that  make  one  swim  while  others  sink. 
Now  I  must  intreat  you  to  order  Lord  Worcester  never 
to  express  any  admiration  of  her — to  any  female.  If 
he  conceives  that  idea  of  her  which  your  partiality  more 
than  her  merit  may  encourage,  let  it  lie,  like  a  violet  in 
the  shade,  to  be  of  any  use  to  him  in  the  future.' 

In  August  of  the  same  year  the  Margravine  sent  her 
correspondent  a  little  '  sonnet,1  or  more  properly,  ballad, 
called  The  Holiday  of  Life,  which  she  had  written  and 
set  to  music.  This  artificial  trifle  may  be  quoted  as  a 
fair  specimen  of  her  poetical  powers  : — 

'  Colin  met  Sylvia  on  the  green 

Once,  'twas  the  charming  first  of  May, 

And  shepherds  ne'er  tell  false,  I  ween — 

By  chance  they  met,  as  shepherds  say. 

Colin  he  blushed  and  bowed,  then  said, 
"  Will  you,  sweet  maid,  this  first  of  May, 

Begin  the  dance,  by  Colin  led, 
To  make  this  quite  his  holiday? " 

Sylvia  replied,  "  I  ne'er  from  home 
Yet  ventured  till  this  first  of  May  ; 

Say,  is  it  fit  for  maids  to  roam, 
And  make  a  shepherd's  holiday  ?  " 

N  193 


LADY  CRAVEN 

"  It  is  most  fit,"  replied  the  youth, 
"That  Sylvia  should,  this  first  of  May, 

By  me  be  taught  that  love  and  truth 
Can  make  of  life  a  holiday."  ' 

'  Take  care,1  writes  the  author,  '  that  if  any  of  your 
Scotch  nightingales  sing  it,  they  don't  hurry,  for  the  time 
that  it  is  sung  in  will  make  or  mar  the  air.  ...  I  know 
nobody  will  sing  it  as  well  as  I  can,  because  nobody 
could  ever  sing  any  music  I  ever  composed  to  please  my 
feelings.  But  that  is  no  matter ;  'tis  not  the  first  of 
my  brats  that  have  been  murdered  after  I  produced 
them.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  death  and  destruc- 
tion. And  now  I  must  inform  you  that  I  am  going  to 
restore  to  Lady  Craven's  Tour  to  Constantinople  all 
the  fine  things  which  were  very  wisely  left  out."1  The 
Margravine  asks  her  correspondent  for  a  drawing  for 
this  new  edition  of  her  book.  '  I  would  have,'  she  says, 
'  the  dedication  to  the  Margrave's  ashes  in  an  urn,  my 
figure  (the  face  hid  in  drapery)  holding  it,  and  stand- 
ing on  a  cloud — having  left  the  world — which  might 
have  the  globe  in  the  bottom  of  the  drawing,  if  you  like 
to  do  it.' 

In  another  letter,  dated  September  1811,  the  Mar- 
gravine announces  her  intention  of  letting  Benham  and 
retiring  to  Brandenburgh  House  to  arrange  about  the 
publication  of  her  letters,  in  order,  as  she  says,  that  she 
may  save  her  memory  from  the  mischief  done  to  Lady 
Mary  Wortley  Montagu's.  '  Nobody  shall  write  my 
travels  and  letters  after  I  am  dead.  Grimm  and  Meister 
were  the  correspondents  of  the  Margrave,  the  Empress 
of  Russia,  and  many  other  northern  princes.  I  have 
recueils  of  twenty-five  volumes  in  manuscript ;  it  would 
194 


LADY  CRAVEN 

be  foolish  to  myself  and  a  wrong  to  posterity  if  I  had 
not  them  published.1 

Like  most  elderly  ladies  (and  gentlemen),  the  Mar- 
gravine was  firmly  convinced  that  the  times  were  out  of 
joint,  and  that  the  country  was  going  to  the  dogs.  It  must 
be  confessed  that  in  the  early  years  of  the  nineteenth 
century  there  were  some  grounds  for  gloomy  prophecies. 
'  We  are  in  a  pretty  scrape,1  she  writes  in  October  1811  ; 
'  Government  has  sent  out  orders  for  sailing  and  counter- 
sailing,  marching  and  counter-marching,  and  Jersey, 
Guernsey,  Ireland,  Spain,  Portugal,  Sussex  coast,  and 
Kentish  marshes  are  all  to  be  guarded  together.  I  have 
no  idea  of  a  Government  making  itself  so  ridiculous. 
How  Buonaparte  must  laugh !  We  want  nothing  to 
stamp  our  eternal  folly  but  to  do  as  we  did  in  the  time 
of  the  Danes — bribe  them  with  our  money  to  retire 
from  our  coasts,  which  with  that  money  they  attacked 
again  with  fresh  vigour.1  But  the  climate  was,  in  her 
opinion,  an  even  worse  offender  than  the  Government. 
Writing  from  Wey mouth  in  August  1812,  she  complains  : 
'  We  have  seen  the  sun  three  times  in  one  month.  Every- 
body feels  the  influence  of  the  eternal  fogs  and  vapours 
by  growling,  grumbling,  hanging,  murdering,  or  dying 
suddenly ;  but  nobody  suggests  the  only  remedy,  which 
is  filling  up  the  navigable  cuts.  I  began  Lord  Byron's 
Childe  Harold.  Could  not  get  through  it — a  quoy 
remait-il?  ...  I  did  not  tell  you  that  I  went  to 
Drapers1  Hall  in  the  city  to  see  a  picture  of  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots.  Tis  a  very  fine  one,  and  in  that  I  can 
see  what  the  Scotch  mean  by  my  likeness,  though  I  am 
too  humble  to  think  I  deserve  the  compliment.  ...  I 
wish  all  the  wars  were  ended.  I  was  obliged  to  tell  my 
coachmaker  the  other  day  that  black  and  white  mixed 

195 


LADY  CRAVEN 

ad  vol.  makes  grey.  Ignorance  in  all  the  arts  keeps 
pace  with  the  increase  of  armies.  I  shall  shut  myself 
up  in  my  library  at  my  return,  and  let  seas  of  ink  flow 
over  paper  plains  until  my  conscience  is  satisfied,  and 
then  recreate  myself  with  composing  some  melody  so  gay 
and  original  as  you  can  hear  massacred  by  others  after  I 
have  played  it  to  you  unmassacred.1 

Kirkpatrick  Sharpe  took  the  greatest  delight  in 
listening  to  the  Margravine  anecdotes  about  old  times, 
and  the  distinguished  people  she  had  known  in  her 
eventful  youth.  It  was  he  who  suggested  to  her  that 
she  should  write  down  her  recollections,  '  as  French 
ladies  who  remember  anything  (and  nothing)  always  do, 
and  English  ladies  now  and  then.1  The  Margravine 
was  flattered  at  the  idea,  but  unfortunately  her  Autobio- 
graphy (which  was  dedicated  to  the  Duke  of  York)  is 
not  so  much  a  record  of  her  personal  recollections  as  a 
rechauffe  of  her  various  but  undigested  reading.  In 
describing  the  famous  persons  with  whom  she  was 
brought  in  contact,  she  seems  to  have  drawn  upon 
biographies  and  encyclopaedias  instead  of  trusting  to  her 
own  memories,  and  has  given  her  readers  threadbare 
facts  instead  of  traits  of  character  such  as  only  a 
woman  would  have  noticed.  Hence,  a  large  portion  of 
the  two  bulky  volumes  consists  of  downright  unadulter- 
ated padding. 

Keppel  Craven,  an  exquisite  of  the  first  water  (judg- 
ing by  Sharpens  portrait  of  him),  and  an  intimate  friend 
of  Sir  William  Gell,  was  offered  the  post  of  Chamberlain 
to  the  Princess  of  Wales.  His  mother  says  that  she 
could  not  ask  him  to  reject  the  offer ;  but  she  only  con- 
sented to  his  accepting  it  on  condition  that  he  received 
no  salary,  and  was  not  regarded  as  one  of  the  house- 
196 


LADY  CRAVEN 

hold.  The  Princess  ordered  her  Chamberlain  to  attend 
her  to  Naples,  whither,  after  the  Battle  of  Waterloo, 
the  Margravine  followed  her  son.  The  King  of  Naples 
gave  her  two  acres  of  land,  on  which  she  built  a  villa, 
and  laid  out  a  beautiful  garden.  Here,  except  for  an 
occasional  visit  to  England,  she  passed  the  remainder  of 
her  life.  Brandenburgh  House,  which  was  usually  in- 
habited by  notorious  tenants,  was  occupied  by  Queen 
Caroline  in  1820-21.  The  Margravine,  in  spite  of  her 
son's  connection  with  Caroline,  somewhat  unaccountably 
took  the  part  of  George  iv.,  and  concludes  her  Auto- 
biography with  the  following  panegyric  on  his  virtues  : 
'  He  has  been  universally  admired  for  his  urbanity, 
high  accomplishments,  and  goodness  of  heart.  His 
conduct  to  our  sex  has  been  unexampled ;  and  those 
who  have  had  the  happiness  of  knowing  him,  as  I  did, 
will  not  hesitate  to  do  justice  to  his  feelings  where 
female  delicacy  was  concerned.  .  .  .  His  liberality 
never  failed,  even  to  his  wife.  He  took  her  enormous 
debts  upon  himself,  and  made  sacrifices  which  no 
other  husband  in  the  world  would  have  made,  had  he 
been  brought  before  Parliament,  and  placed  in  a  similar 
position.' 

Our  heroine,  whose  splendid  constitution  and  high 
spirits  never  deserted  her,  amused  herself  up  to  the  last 
by  working  in  her  garden,  and  corresponding  with  her 
friends  in  England  on  the  shortcomings  of  her  native  land. 
In  February  1816  she  writes  to  Dr.  Taylor,  enclosing 
a  little  sketch  of  two  methods  of  paving  streets.  *  I  have 
drawn,'  she  says,  'the  manners  of  paving  the  streets 
a  ritalienne  with  that  a  TAnglaise,  in  hopes  you  will 
observe  that  the  wheels  of  carriages  must  eternally  shake 
and  disarrange  the  one  and  consolidate  the  other ;  and 

197 


LADY  CRAVEN 

I  hope  you  will  get  all  the  streets  of  London  paved 
a  TItalienne.  I  lament  that  our  Society  has  lost  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk.  I  do  not  think  we  shall  ever  find  a 
President  who  will  distribute  prizes  and  make  speeches 
with  so  much  grace  as  our  much  lamented  Duke  of 
Norfolk.  Pray  let  me  know  who  is  chosen  in  his  place, 
and  if  you  have  tempted  by  a  large  reward  some  atmo- 
spherical and  physical  calculator  to  propose  doing  away 
with  the  navigable  cuts,  Paddington  canals,  and  junction 
canals  that  poison  the  atmosphere  of  England  and  rob 
her  of  her  best  productions.  I  know  money  will  be  held 
up  as  a  barrier  to  the  crime  of  spoiling  land  and  creat- 
ing noxious  vapours ;  but  money  is  useless  dirt,  and 
ought  to  be  trodden  under  foot  when  it  not  only  cannot 
purchase  health  and  wholesome  food,  but  is  used  as  a 
vehicle  to  convey  sickness  and  the  first  of  human  miseries 
all  over  our  island.  .  .  . 

'  May  30,  1816. — I  write  to  you  now  on  account  of 
what  I  saw  of  Mr.  Curwen's  anxiety  about  the  relief  of 
the  poor,  and  the  little  knowledge  some  of  the  members 
of  the  House  of  Commons  seem  to  possess  of  the  mischief 
arising  from  having  Poor  Rates  at  all  in  any  parish. 
When  I  first  settled  at  Brandenburgh  House,  I  was  at 
some  pains  to  find  out  the  use  made  of  the  many  legacies 
given  in  annual  payments  to  the  poor  of  different 
parishes  —  charitable  institutions,  gifts  of  land,  etc. 
Upon  a  very  small  circle  round  and  near  the  metropolis 
I  found  the  poor  ought  to  be  rich.  Why  were  they  not 
so  ?  Because  independent  noblemen  and  gentlemen  have 
left  off  investigating  the  use  of  monies  for  the  poor. 
Villainous  tradesmen  of  every  description  are  left  to 
handle  and  disburse  and  make  what  use  they  please  of 
the  money  allotted  to  the  poor  by  legacies,  subscriptions, 
198 


LADY  CRAVEN 

or  annual  rates,  and  near  me  they  made  no  scruple  to 
pay  their  score  of  three  shillings  a  head  for  their  dinners 
at  a  tavern  out  of  the  money  collected  that  day  for 
the  poor,  which  so  shocked  a  person  present  that  he 
threw  his  three  shillings  on  the  table,  and  refused  to 
belong  to  the  overseers.  The  money  of  the  turnpikes 
on  the  Bath  Road  is  perverted  in  the  same  way.  Till 
Government  sends  agents  to  examine  into  all  this,  people 
as  charitably  inclined  as  I  am  must  grieve  in  silence.  A 
partial  examination  will  not  do — it  must  be  all  over  the 
kingdom  at  once,  and  I  aver  that  it  will  be  found  that 
legacies,  gifts,  foundations,  etc.,  make  all  poor-rates 
unnecessary.  That  the  lower  orders  are  wretched,  and 
the  higher  deprived  of  half  the  luxuries  they  enjoyed 
thirty  years  ago,  I  am  certain,  but  it  is  owing  to  a  want 
of  police.  Here  [in  England]  half  their  butter  and  all 
their  eggs  come  from  France.  Butchers  and  farmers 
are  too  rich  and  monopolising,  and  only  an  investiga- 
tion into  causes  will  cure  their  dismal  results.' 

The  last  glimpse  we  get  of.  the  Margravine  is  given 
us  by  Madden  in  his  Life  of  Lady  Blessington.  Madden 
was  at  Naples  with  the  Blessingtons  in  1822,  and  there 
he  saw  the  '  beautiful,  gay,  and  fascinating  Lady  Craven ' 
of  Boswell,  transformed  into  a  withered  and  wrinkled 
old  woman,  who  might  have  sat  for  one  of  the  witches 
in  Macbeth.  She  still  retained  her  sprightliness  and 
vivacity,  which  contrasted  very  painfully  with  the  wreck 
of  her  former  beauty.  Lord  Charles  Murray,  who  was 
in  Naples  at  the  same  time,  and  who  had  only  just 
recovered  from  a  fit  of  temporary  insanity,  persuaded 
Madden  to  take  him  to  call  upon  the  Margravine,  whom 
he  had  apparently  known  in  former  days.  The  two  found 
the  lady  digging  in  her  garden,  dressed,  as  was  her  custom, 

199 


LADY  CRAVEN 

in  coarse  and  singular  attire,  '  a  desiccated,  antiquated 
piece  of  mortality.'  Lord  Charles,  excited  by  her  extra- 
ordinary appearance,  presently  lost  his  self-control,  and 
burst  into  a  torrent  of  reprehension,  calling  up  reminis- 
cences of  a  disagreeable  nature,  and  rumours  of  strange 
occurrences  in  various  parts  of  the  globe.  While  the 
Margravine  stood  listening  in  mingled  consternation  and 
amazement,  Madden  tried  to  hurry  his  friend  away.  But 
Lord  Charles  insisted  that  he  must  show  his  hostess  a  new 
way  of  entering  a  carriage,  and,  taking  a  flying  leap,  he 
dived  head  foremost  through  the  window  of  the  carriage, 
where  he  stuck  fast,  while  his  long  legs  waved  wildly 
outside.  With  much  difficulty  Madden  and  a  servant 
managed,  by  dint  of  breaking  a  window,  to  get  the  whole 
of  his  lordship  inside,  and  the  two  drove  off,  leaving  the 
Margravine  more  startled  than  impressed. 

In  1828  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  and  Chandos, 
then  staying  in  Naples,  notes  in  his  Memoirs  the  death 
of  the  Margravine  of  Anspach,  to  whose  imposing 
funeral  he  was  invited.  *  Elizabeth '  (as  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  sign  herself  in  royal  fashion)  left  the  bulk  of 
her  property  to  her  favourite  Keppel,  who  died  at 
Naples  in  1851. 

It  cannot  be  affirmed  that  there  is  any  very  striking 
moral  to  be  drawn  from  the  faits  et  gestes  of  the  Mar- 
gravine. Though  she  always  lived  as  seemed  best  in  her 
own  eyes,  she  was  loved  and  admired  in  her  youth, 
attained  exalted  rank  and  wealth  (if  not  respect)  in 
middle  life,  and  found  interests  and  occupations  for  her 
old  age.  Even  had  her  career  been  less  successful  than 
it  actually  was,  she  would  have  been  happy,  by  reason  of 
the  abnormally-developed  self-esteem  that  would  have 
carried  her  triumphantly  through  a  multitude  of  failures. 
200 


LADY  CRAVEN 

To  the  end  of  her  days  it  is  evident  that  she  regarded 
herself  not  only  as  a  genius  and  a  beauty,  but  as  a  pattern 
for  wives,  mothers,  daughters,  sisters,  friends.  What 
better  gift  need  any  mortal  ask  of  the  gods  than  an 
equally  unpuncturable  power  of  self-delusion  ? 


201 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

BOOTMAKER   AND    BOOKSELLER 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

(1746-1815) 

IN  reading  the  biographical  literature  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  memoirs,  letters,  and  journals,  we  cannot  but  be 
struck  by  the  almost  total  absence  of  documents  dealing 
at  first  hand  with  the  trading  or  labouring  classes  of  the 
period.  The  populace  seems  to  have  been  separated  from 
its  betters  by  a  great  gulf,  not  of  hatred,  but  rather  of 
indifference.  Occasionally,  in  the  letters  of  coffee-room 
wit  or  fashionable  lady,  there  is  an  allusion  to  the 
uproarious  doings  of  the  'mob,1  while  more  rarely  the 
citizen  and  his  pretentious  wife  come  in  for  a  polite 
sarcasm.  In  country  villages  ruled  over  by  a  beneficent 
squire,  the  gulf  was  bridged  to  some  extent  by  a  charit- 
able interest  in  the  'deserving  poor1  or  'industrious 
cottagers,1  which  usually  showed  itself  in  some  form  of 
amiable  tyranny.  The  net  of  the  philanthropist  was  not 
widespread  in  those  days,  and  it  was  only  the  'deserving1 
who  were  patronised  and  assisted,  the  word  'deserving1 
being  applied  to  those  who  bent  the  knee  to  the  squired 
liveries,  and  showed  no  desire  to  raise  themselves  above 
that  state  of  life  to  which  Providence  had  called  them. 
If  we  have  some  faint  notion  of  the  manner  in  which 
the  great  lady  regarded  the  mob  that  broke  her  windows, 

205 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

or  the  wit  regarded  the  tradesmen  who  dunned  him,  we 
know  practically  nothing  of  the  manner  in  which  mob  or 
tradesmen  regarded  wits  and  fashionable  ladies.  The 
labouring  men  who  shouted  for  '  Wilkes  and  liberty,1 
the  butcher  who  sold  his  vote  for  a  kiss  from  Devon- 
shire's Duchess — these  are  mere  puppets  who  danced  to 
the  piping  of  political  agitators,  and,  when  the  dance 
was  over,  were  dropped  back  into  their  box,  and  the 
lid  closed  upon  them. 

One  record  we  possess,  however,  which  tells  at  first 
hand  of  the  privations  of  working  men  and  women,  and 
of  the  struggles  of  small  tradesmen,  in  the  days  when 
George  in.  was  king.  This  is  James  Lackington's 
Memoirs  of  the  First  Forty -five  Years  of  his  Life, 
published  in  1792.  Lackington  deserves  to  be  com- 
memorated if  only  because  he  accomplished  the  almost 
superhuman  feat,  considering  the  period  at  which  he 
lived,  of  rising  unaided  save  by  sheer  strength  of  will 
and  force  of  character  from  the  humble  obscurity  of  a 
shoemaker's  apprentice  to  the  proud  eminence  of  a 
wealthy  bookseller.  Having  only  learned  the  art  of 
writing  after  he  came  to  manhood,  it  was  hardly  to  be 
expected  that  his  Memoirs  should  prove  to  be  a  work 
of  much  literary  value ;  but  when  the  vulgarities,  crudi- 
ties, and  irrelevancies  are  cut  away,  we  have  a  simple, 
straightforward  [narrative  which  is  valuable  for  the 
strong  light  it  throws  upon  a  subject  that  otherwise 
would  remain  wrapped  in  almost  impenetrable  mystery. 

The  author  of  the  Memoirs  certainly  did  not  begin  life 
with  any  external  advantages,  since  he  was  one  of  the 
eleven  children  of  a  drunken  shoemaker.  Like  mos.t 
remarkable  men,  however,  he  had  a  remarkable  mother, 
who,  to  support  her  family,  worked  at  her  spinning-wheel 
206 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

for  nineteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  living  mean- 
while upon  broth  and  vegetables.  At  the  time  of  James's 
birth  in  August  1746,  the  family  was  living  at  Wellington 
in  Somersetshire,  where  its  nominal  head  had  been  set  up 
in  a  shop  by  his  father,  a  yeoman  farmer.  The  future 
bookseller  was  sent  to  a  dame  school  for  two  or  three 
years;  but  his  mother  being  unable  to  keep  up  the 
payment  of  twopence  a  week,  his  education  came  to 
an  abrupt  conclusion,  and  he  speedily  forgot  the  little 
he  had  learned.  But  he  was  not  idle ;  for  at  the  age  of 
ten  years  he  invented  a  new  method  of  crying  apple-pies, 
which  commended  itself  to  a  local  baker,  who  employed 
him  in  this  office  for  about  a  year  with  extraordinary 
financial  results.  But  at  the  end  of  this  time  James, 
having  accidentally  upset  his  employer's  child  out  of  a 
wheel-barrow,  prudently  decided  to  leave  his  situation, 
and,  returning  home,  worked  under  his  father  at  boot- 
making  for  the  next  two  or  three  years. 

At  fourteen  James  was  formally  apprenticed  for  seven 
years  to  a  worthy  couple  at  Taunton,  Bowden  by  name, 
who  worked  at  their  shoemaking  on  six  days  in  the 
week,  and  attended  an  Anabaptist  chapel  on  the  seventh. 
There  were  two  sons  of  the  house,  aged  seventeen  and 
fourteen,  good  lads  who  had  learned  to  read,  write,  cast 
up  accounts,  and  do  as  they  were  bid.  The  family 
possessed  but  one  book,  a  Bible,  and  their  ideas  were  as 
circumscribed  as  their  library.  Their  only  relaxations 
consisted  of  a  Sunday  walk  and  an  evening  reading  of 
the  Scriptures,  and  all  went  early  to  bed,  'no  one 
doubting  but  he  should  go  to  heaven  when  he  died,  and 
every  one  hoping  it  would  be  a  good  while  first.1  The 
master  had  a  curious  custom  of  rising  every  morning  all 
the  year  round  at  three  o'clock,  when  he  took  a  walk  by 

207 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

the  river,  stopped  at  an  alehouse  to  drink  half  a  pint, 
called  up  his  people  to  work  at  six,  and  went  to  bed 
again  at  seven. 

But  the  peace  of  the  family  was  destined  to  be  rudely 
broken.  When  James  had  been  apprentice  about  a 
year,  the  elder  boy,  George,  heard  a  sermon  by  one  of 
Mr.  Wesley's  preachers,  which  convinced  him  that  the 
innocent  life  he  had  hitherto  led  would  only  take  him 
deeper  into  hell ;  in  short,  he  discovered  that  he  had 
never  been  converted,  but  was  in  a  state  of  damnation. 
He  presently  persuaded  himself  that  he  had  passed 
through  the  New  Birth,  and  was  quite  certain  that  his 
name  was  registered  in  the  Book  of  Life.  Having 
assured  his  own  safety,  he  began  to  be  concerned  for  his 
family  and  friends,  who,  he  feared,  were  in  a  parlous 
state.  In  the  long  winter  evenings,  as  they  sat  at  work, 
he  proved  to  his  own  satisfaction  that  every  man  had 
enough  original  sin  to  damn  a  thousand  souls,  that 
morality  was  of  no  avail,  good  works  being  only  splendid 
sins,  and  that  by  faith  alone  could  man  be  saved.  No 
one,  however,  could  feel  a  proper  amount  of  faith  till  he 
was  justified,  justification  being  a  sudden  operation  on 
the  soul,  by  means  of  which  the  most  execrable  wretch 
might  be  assured  in  one  instant  of  all  his  sins  being 
forgiven.  This  zealous  young  disciple  of  Wesley  found 
his  doctrine  opposed  by  his  own  mother,  who,  honest 
woman,  would  sit  with  her  Bible  on  her  lap,  from  which 
she  would  read  such  passages  as  proved  the  necessity  of 
good  works,  and  refuted  the  tenets  of  original  sin, 
imputed  righteousness,  and  the  like.  The  youthful 
theologian  generally  had  the  best  of  the  argument,  and 
his  success  induced  his  brother  John  to  go  and  hear 
the  new  lights,  from  which  expedition  he  returned  in 
208 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

great  agony  of  mind,  declaring  that  he  was  eternally 
damned. 

The  first  effect  of  all  these  agitations  upon  the  mind 
of  the  young  apprentice  was  to  arouse  in  him  a  desire 
for  more  knowledge,  in  order  that  he  might  judge  which 
of  the  controversialists  was  in  the  right.  Having  an 
allowance  of  a  halfpenny  a  week,  he  handed  this  over 
to  John,  who  in  return  taught  him  to  spell,  the  lessons 
taking  place  at  night  after  the  boys  had  been  sent  to 
bed,  and  being  delivered  in  the  oral  method,  since  no 
candles  were  allowed.  As  soon  as  he  had  made  a  little 
progress  James  went  to  the  Methodist  meetings  in  his 
turn,  caught  the  prevailing  infection,  and  was  horribly 
frightened  by  sermons  about  hell.  However,  after  a 
month  devoted  to  singing  hymns  and  repeating  texts,  his 
imagination  was  worked  up  to  the  required  pitch,  and  he 
was  born  again,  becoming,  to  use  his  own  words,  a  great 
favourite  with  heaven,  and  as  familiar  with  the  Trinity 
as  any  old  woman  in  Mr.  Wesley's  connexion. 

A  more  practical  result  of  James's  conversion  was  his 
ever-increasing  desire  to  learn  to  read.  His  working 
hours  in  the  winter  months  lasted  from  six  in  the 
morning  till  ten  at  night,  but  in  the  summer  he  was 
only  obliged  to  work  as  long  as  he  could  see  without 
candles.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  how  he  found  time,  as 
he  assures  us  that  he  did,  to  read  ten  chapters  in  the 
Bible  every  day,  besides  portions  of  Mr.  Wesley's  sermons 
and  tracts.  His  sight  was  so  excellent,  for  one  thing, 
that  he  often  read  by  the  light  of  the  moon  after  going 
to  bed.  He  had  the  courage  to  give  his  master  and 
mistress  broad  hints  about  the  perilous  state  of  their 
souls,  but  they,  worthy  folk,  relied  for  argument  upon 
a  good  thick  stick.  For  some  time  James  attended  his 
o  209 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

meetings  without  the  knowledge  or  consent  of  his  em- 
ployers; but  as  his  zeal  increased,  he  often  ran  away, 
against  orders,  to  hear  Methodist  sermons.  One  Sunday 
his  mistress  locked  him  into  his  room,  whereupon  he 
opened  his  Bible  for  direction,  and  read,  '  He  has  given 
his  angels  charge  concerning  thee,  lest  at  any  time  thou 
dash  thy  foot  against  a  stone.1  Without  hesitation, 
having  received,  as  he  fancied,  heavenly  direction,  he  ran 
up  two  pair  of  stairs  and  leaped  out  of  the  window.  His 
feet  and  ankles  were  so  terribly  bruised  that  he  had  to 
be  carried  back  into  the  house,  and  it  was  more  than  a 
month  before  he  recovered  the  use  of  his  limbs.  '  I  was 
ignorant  enough  to  think,1  he  says, '  that  the  Lord  had 
not  used  me  very  well,  and  resolved  not  to  put  so  much 
trust  in  Him  in  future.1 

James  had  been  apprenticed  about  four  years  when  his 
master  died ;  and  although  Mr.  Bowden  had  been  a  good 
husband,  a  good  father,  and  a  good  master,  yet,  as  he 
had  not  held  the  Methodist  faith,  his  apprentice  piously 
feared  that  he  had  gone  straight  to  hell.  The  widow 
was  of  opinion  that  his  death  had  been  hastened  by  the 
conduct  of  his  sons,  who  were  dutiful  lads  before  their 
conversion,  but  after  they  'became  saints1  acted  as  though 
they  expected  to  be  fed  and  clothed  by  miracles.  James 
was  bound  to  his  mistress  for  the  remainder  of  his  term  ; 
but  he  obtained  more  liberty  of  conscience  than  before, 
was  admitted  a  member  of  the  Methodist  sect,  and  for 
several  years  attended  all  the  sermons  and  private 
meetings  in  the  community.  The  various  classes  and 
bands  were  visited  from  time  to  time  by  Wesley  in 
person,  who  gave  advice  and  exhortations  to  his  followers, 
seldom  failing  to  speak  in  praise  of  celibacy  to  the  maids 
and  bachelors  under  his  charge.  James  was  a  sincere 
210 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

enthusiast  from  the  time  that  he  was  converted  at 
sixteen  until  he  reached  the  age  of  one-and-twentv, 
insomuch  that  he  stood  forward  as  the  champion  of 
Methodism  wherever  he  went. 

This  strict  mode  of  life  came  to  an  end  with  an  elec- 
tion at  Taunton,  when,  as  young  Lackington  possessed  a 
vote  (it  does  not  appear  how  he  got  the  qualification), 
the  few  months  he  had  still  to  serve  were  bought  off  by 
the  friends  of  the  candidates,  and  he  was  set  free  in  the 
midst  of  a  scene  of  riot  and  dissipation.  For  a  time 
his  religion  was  forgotten,  though  at  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  he  confesses  that  he  was  always  uneasy,  and  felt 
certain  that  he  should  be  damned  for  his  backsliding. 
When  the  election  was  over  he  began  to  reconsider  his 
position,  which  was  rather  a  serious  one,  even  from  a 
temporal  point  of  view.  He  had  been  dismissed  from 
a  new  situation  on  account  of  a  love-affair  with  a  milk- 
maid ;  not  that  his  employer  objected  to  the  intrigue  on 
moral  grounds,  but  because  the  lover  refused  to  buy  milk 
from  another  milkwoman  who  was  one  of  his  master's 
customers.  The  young  journeyman  now  determined  to 
go  and  seek  work  at  Bristol,  and  was  accompanied  as 
far  as  Exbridge  by  his  sweetheart.  Here  scruples  of 
conscience  made  him  resolve  to  break  off  the  connection ; 
and  although  his  capital  only  amounted  to  three  shillings 
and  a  penny,  he  bestowed  half  a  crown  upon  her,  and 
continued  his  journey  alone. 

On  the  evening  of  his  arrival  at  Bristol,  James  obtained 
what  was  called  '  a  seat  of  work,1  and  took  a  lodging  in 
the  house  of  a  fellow-craftsman.  It  may  here  be  noted, 
as  illustrative  of  the  conditions  of  working  life  at  that 
period,  that  our  hero,  in  the  course  of  many  peregrina- 
tions from  one  place  to  another,  only  on  one  occasion 

211 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

failed  to  obtain  employment  for  the  asking.  The 
journeyman  seems  to  have  carried  his  skill  in  his  craft 
as  a  sort  of  circular  note  or  letter  of  credit,  which  was 
honoured  to  the  extent  of  a  living  wage  wheresoever  it 
might  be  presented.  In  his  new  home  James  became 
acquainted  with  a  young  man  named  John  Jones,  who 
was  employed  in  making  women's  stuff  shoes  for  ware- 
houses. The  two  youths  became  infected  with  a  genuine 
literary  enthusiasm,  and  were  anxious  to  buy  books ;  but 
so  great  was  their  ignorance,  that  they  knew  not  what 
to  ask  for  in  the  shops,  having  scarcely  heard  the  titles 
of  any  but  religious  works ;  and  there  were  then,  we  are 
assured,  thousands  of  persons  in  the  same  situation. 

One  day,  when  the  friends  were  on  a  visit  to  the  annual 
fair,  they  perceived  a  stall  of  second-hand  books,  and 
among  its  contents  found  Hobbes's  translation  of  the 
Iliad  and  the  Odyssey.  James  happened  to  have  heard 
that  Homer  was  a  great  poet,  but  he  had  never  heard 
of  Pope's  translation,  so  he  eagerly  bought  that  of 
Hobbes,  together  with  Walker's  Poetical  Paraphrase  of 
Epictetus,  and  the  young  men  went  home  delighted  with 
their  bargain.  They  were,  as  might  be  expected,  dis- 
appointed with  Homer  as  rendered  by  Hobbes,  both  on 
account  of  the  obscurity  of  the  translation  and  its  lack 
of  poetical  merit.  But  Epictetus  was  easily  read  and 
understood,  and  James  was  so  charmed  by  the  principles 
of  the  Stoics  that  he  carried  the  book  with  him  wherever 
he  went. 

In  Bristol  Lackington  fell  once  more  under  the  influence 
of  Wesley,  who  was  preaching  at  Broadmead  ;  and  being 
weary  of  his  present  mode  of  life,  his  former  fanatical 
notions  returned  hot  upon  him.  His  friend  John  soon 
perceived  with  grief  and  indignation  that  the  once  gay, 
212 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

volatile  young  fellow  was  transformed  into  a  dull, 
moping,  psalm-singing  Methodist,  continually  reprehend- 
ing all  about  him  for  their  harmless  mirth  and  gaiety. 
After  a  while  Lackington  succeeded  in  converting  his 
friend's  younger  brother  and  sister,  and  finally,  after  a 
sharp  struggle,  the  great  Mr.  John  Jones  himself.  The 
four,  being  all  convinced  that  they  were  the  favourites 
of  heaven,  now  made  a  holy  community,  and  worked 
harder  than  ever  in  order  to  buy  religious  books.  Soon 
they  had  acquired  a  varied  collection,  which  included  all 
Bunyan's  works,  Hervey's  Meditations,  Baxter's  Call  to 
the  Unconverted,  and  many  sensationally-entitled  tracts. 
So  anxious  were  these  remarkable  people  to  read  a  great 
deal,  that  they  only  allowed  themselves  three  hours1  sleep 
out  of  the  twenty-four,  and  each  took  it  in  turns  to  read 
aloud  to  the  rest.  This  plan  of  living  they  continued 
until  they  had  made  considerable  progress  in  spiritual 
knowledge,  and  mastered  the  various  arguments  used  by 
polemical  divines.  In  order  to  guard  his  companions 
from  false  doctrines,  James,  who  was  their  recognised 
leader,  used  to  engage  them  in  controversies  in  which 
he  took  different  sides,  becoming  in  turn  a  Calvinist, 
an  Arian,  a  Socinian,  a  Deist,  and  even  an  Atheist. 

In  the  course  of  his  reading  Lackington  discovered 
that  there  had  been  sects  of  philosophers  among  the 
Greeks  and  Romans.  In  order  to  extend  his  knowledge 
he  bought  the  works  of  Plato,  Plutarch,  Seneca,  and 
Epicurus,  and  soon  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
derived  more  real  moral  benefit  from  them  than  from 
any  of  his  other  books.  Thanks  to  his  new-found 
philosophy,  he  grew  to  despise  material  pleasures,  and 
for  some  time  confined  himself  to  bread  and  tea,  in 
order  that  he  might  have  more  money  to  spare  for  books. 

213 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

This  mode  of  life  he  continued  until  he  left  Bristol  in 
1769,  having  persuaded  his  friend  Jones  of  the  advantages 
of  travel.  The  friends  started  together ;  but  John  obtain- 
ing work  at  Bridgewater,  James  journeyed  on  alone  till 
he  found  employment  at  Kingsbridge,  and  settled  down 
in  that  city.  Here  he  was  fortunate  in  having  a  master 
who  treated  him  as  a  friend  rather  than  as  a  workman. 
This  good  man,  noticing  that  his  assistant  was  obliged 
to  employ  friends  to  write  his  letters  for  him,  observed 
that  it  was  a  pity  he  did  not  learn  to  write  for  himself. 

'  The  idea  pleased  me  so  much,"1  observes  James, '  that 
I  set  about  it  without  any  delay,  by  taking  up  pieces  of 
paper  that  had  writing  upon  them,  and  imitating  them 
as  well  as  I  could.  I  employed  my  leisure  in  this  way 
for  nearly  two  months,  after  which  I  wrote  my  own 
letters,  in  a  bad  hand  you  may  be  sure,  but  it  was  plain 
and  easy  to  read,  which  was  all  I  cared  for/  After 
staying  about  a  year  at  Kingsbridge,  where  wages  were 
low,  he  decided  to  return  to  Bristol ;  but  stopped  at 
Bridgewater  on  the  way,  where  he  renewed  his  acquaint- 
ance with  a  charming  dairy-maid  named  Nancy  Smith, 
not  the  partner  of  his  early  escapade,  but  a  respectable 
young  woman  whom  he  had  courted  in  his  '  prentice "" 
days,  when  he  had  mingled  lovemaking  with  spiritual 
advice  and  consolation.  The  pair  had  scarcely  met  for 
seven  years,  but  at  the  sight  of  his  old  sweetheart  James 
felt  his  passion  revive.  With  his  usual  directness  he 
informed  his  Nancy  that  his  attachment  to  books  had 
prevented  his  saving  any  money,  and  that  until  he 
married  he  was  never  likely  to  accumulate  anything. 
This  was  not  exactly  a  tempting  preface  to  an  offer  of 
marriage ;  but  Nancy  being  an  unworldly  maiden,  agreed 
to  take  pity  on  him,  and  the  pair  proceeded  to  Bristol 
214 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

to  get  married.  A  furnished  lodging  was  taken  at  a  rental 
of  two-and-sixpence  a  week ;  and  the  expenses  of  the 
wedding-day  so  completely  exhausted  the  young  couplers 
resources,  that  on  turning  out  their  pockets  next  morn- 
ing they  found  that  they  possessed  but  one  halfpenny 
between  them.  Fortunately,  they  had  laid  in  provisions 
enough  to  last  a  day  or  two ;  and  as  they  knew  that  they 
could  easily  earn  enough  for  their  wants,  they  very  cheer- 
fully set  to  work,  singing,  as  they  stitched,  Dr.  Cotton's 

verses : — 

e  Our  portion  is  not  large  indeed, 
But  then  how  little  do  we  need  ? 

For  nature's  calls  are  few — 
In  this  the  art  of  living  lies, 
To  want  no  more  than  may  suffice, 
And  make  that  little  do.' 

The  young  husband  now  obtained  a  '  seat  of  stuff1 
(i.e.  stuff  shoes)  at  Bristol,  but  he  could  not  at  first  earn 
more  than  nine  shillings  a  week,  and  his  wife  could  make 
but  little,  as  she  was  learning  to  bind  shoes.  A  debt  of 
forty  shillings  having  been  claimed  by  the  once  friendly 
Jones,  the  couple  paid  it  off  in  the  space  of  two  months, 
during  the  whole  of  which  period  they  made  four-and- 
sixpence  a  week  suffice  for  their  board.  *  Strong  beer 
we  had  none,1  writes  James,  '  and  instead  of  tea  or  coffee 
we  toasted  a  piece  of  bread;  at  other  times  we  fried 
wheat  which,  when  boiled  in  water,  made  a  tolerable 
substitute  for  coffee.  As  to  animal  food,  we  had  very 
little,  and  that  little  we  made  broth  of.  During  the 
whole  of  this  time  we  never  once  wished  for  anything 
we  had  not  got,  but  were  quite  contented,  and  with  a 
good  grace  in  reality  made  a  virtue  of  necessity.1 

It  is  not  surprising  that  after  the  debt  was  paid,  both 
husband  and  wife  were  taken  so  ill  as  to  be  confined 

215 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

to  bed.  They  had  two-and-ninepence  locked  up  as  a 
resource  in  an  emergency,  and  this  supported  them  until 
Lackington  recovered.  His  wife  now  suffered  from  a 
long  series  of  illnesses  caused  by  the  sudden  change  of 
air  and  work,  she  having  always  been  accustomed  to  a 
healthy  out-of-door  life.  During  the  first  six  months 
of  her  indisposition,  James  lived  entirely  on  water  and 
gruel,  his  wages  being  required  for  medicines  and  more 
dainty  food  for  the  invalid.  At  last,  thinking  that  her 
native  air  would  do  her  good,  he  threw  up  his  work  and 
removed  to  Taunton.  Here  wages  were  so  low  that  the 
pair  only  stayed  until  Nancy's  health  was  restored,  when 
they  returned  to  Bristol.  In  the  course  of  the  next  two 
years  and  a  half  the  move  to  Taunton  on  account  of 
health,  and  back  to  Bristol  on  account  of  wages,  was  made 
no  less  than  five  times. 

With  the  view  of  improving  his  position,  Lackington 
decided  at  length  to  go  to  London  ;  but  not  having 
sufficient  money  in  hand  to  pay  for  the  double  coach- 
fare,  he  went  to  town  alone,  arranging  to  send  for  his 
wife  as  soon  as  he  had  saved  enough  to  pay  for  her 
journey.  On  arriving  in  London  with  the  proverbial 
half-crown  in  his  pocket,  he  found  a  lodging  with  a 
fellow-Methodist,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  obtaining 
work.  His  first  inquiry  was  for  one  of  Mr.  Wesley's 
'  Gospel  shops,"1  where,  on  producing  his  band  and  class 
tickets,  he  was  admitted  to  the  same  religious  privileges 
that  he  had  enjoyed  in  the  country.  '  At  this  time,'  he 
writes,  '  I  was  as  visionary  and  superstitious  as  ever ;  for 
although  I  had  read  some  sensible  books,  and  acquired 
a  few  rational  ideas,  yet  having  had  a  Methodist  wife 
for  three  years,  and  keeping  Methodist  company,  the 
few  liberal  ideas  I  had  treasured  up  were  in  a  dormant 
216 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

state,  or  borne  down  by  a  torrent  of  enthusiastic  notions 
and  fanatical  chimeras.  ...  It  was  several  weeks  before 
I  could  firmly  resolve  to  continue  in  London,  as  I  really 
was  struck  with  horror  for  the  fate  of  it,  more  particu- 
larly on  Sundays,  finding  that  so  few  people  went  to 
church,  and  that  the  lower  class  spent  the  day  in  getting 
drunk,  quarrelling,  buying,  selling,  etc.  I  seriously 
trembled  for  fear  that  the  measure  of  iniquity  was  quite 
full,  and  that  every  hour  would  be  its  last."1 

Consoling  himself  with  the  notion  that  if  London  was 
a  second  Sodom  he  was  a  second  Lot,  Lackington  settled 
down  to  his  work,  and  at  the  end  of  a  month  had  saved 
enough  money  to  pay  for  his  wife's  fare  to  town.  Having 
now  plenty  of  work  and  higher  wages,  the  couple  were 
more  easy  in  their  circumstances,  and  were  able  to  buy 
some  new  clothes.  'My  wife,'  says  James,  'had  done 
very  well  all  her  life  with  a  superfine  broadcloth  cloak, 
but  now  I  persuaded  her  to  have  one  of  silk.  Until 
this  winter  I  had  never  found  that  I  wanted  a  great 
coat,  but  now  I  made  that  important  discovery/  About 
this  time  came  the  news  that  Lackington's  grandfather, 
the  yeoman  farmer,  was  dead,  and  had  left  each  of  his 
grandchildren  ten  pounds.  This  particular  heir  being 
unable  to  think  of  any  practicable  method  of  having 
such  a  prodigious  sum  sent  up  to  London,  was  obliged 
to  spend  a  considerable  portion  of  his  legacy  in  going  to 
fetch  it.  On  the  way  back  he  was  nearly  frozen  to 
death  outside  the  coach,  and  lost  sixteen  shillings  through 
a  hole  in  his  pocket.  However,  he  reached  home  with 
the  remnant  of  his  guineas  sewn  up  in  his  clothes,  and 
his  wife  piously  thanked  Providence  for  such  a  splendid 
fortune,  only  hoping  that  the  Lord  would  enable  them 
to  make  a  good  use  of  it. 

217 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

With  this  capital  the  pair  furnished  a  room,  and  work 
continuing  plentiful.  James  was  able  occasionally  to  add 
an  old  book  to  his  collection.  He  tells  the  following 
story  against  himself  in  this  connection,  which  sounds 
as  though  it  might  have  happened  to  a  humble  cousin 
of  the  immortal  Vicar : — 

'At  the  time  we  were  purchasing  household  goods  we 
kept  ourselves  short  of  money,  and  on  Christmas  Eve 
had  but  half  a  crown  wherewith  to  buy  a  dinner.  My 
wife  desired  I  would  go  to  Market  and  purchase  this 
feast,  but  in  the  way  I  saw  an  old  book-shop,  and  could 
not  resist  going  in,  intending  to  expend  sixpence  or 
ninepence  out  of  my  half-crown.  But  I  stumbled  on 
Young's  Night  TJioughts — down  went  my  half-crown, 
and  I  hastened  home,  vastly  delighted  with  my  acquisi- 
tion. When  my  wife  asked  where  was  our  Christmas 
dinner,  I  told  her  that  it  was  in  my  pocket.  "  In  your 
pocket,"  said  she.  "That  is  a  strange  place.  How 
could  you  think  of  stuffing  a  piece  of  meat  into  your 
pocket?"  I  assured  her  that  it  would  take  no  harm, 
and  began  to  harangue  on  the  superiority  of  intellectual 
pleasures  over  sensual  gratifications.  I  was  proceeding 
in  this  strain.  "  And  so,"  said  she,  "  instead  of  buying 
a  dinner,  I  suppose  you  have  been  buying  books  with 
the  money?"  I  then  confessed  that  I  had  bought 
Young's  Night  Thoiights.  "And  I  think,"  said  I, 
"  that  I  have  acted  wisely ;  for  had  I  bought  a  dinner, 
we  should  have  eaten  it  to-morrow,  and  the  pleasure 
would  have  been  soon  over;  but  should  we  live  fifty  years 
longer,  we  shall  have  the  Night  Thoughts  to  feast  upon." 
This  was  too  powerful  an  argument  to  admit  of  any 
further  debate,  in  short,  my  wife  was  convinced.'  It 
must  be  allowed  that  if  the  hero  of  this  anecdote  was  a 
218 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

remarkable  man,  he  possessed  an  even  more  extraordi- 
nary wife.  A  Mrs.  Primrose  would  hardly  have  been  so 
complaisant. 

In  June  1774  it  was  suggested  to  Lackington  that 
if  he  were  to  take  a  little  shop  which  was  to  let  in 
Featherston  Street,  he  might  obtain  work  as  a  master 
shoemaker.  He  was  attracted  by  the  idea,  and  observed 
that  he  might  sell  books  as  well  as  boots,  since  if  he 
could  but  be  a  bookseller  he  would  always  have  plenty 
to  read,  which  was  the  strongest  motive  that  he  could 
conceive  for  making  the  attempt.  His  private  library 
consisted  of  a  few  old  religious  works ;  and  he  bought 
for  one  guinea  a  bagful  of  books,  the  property  of  a 
deceased  Methodist.  With  this  modest  stock,  and 
some  scraps  of  leather,  worth  in  all  about  five  pounds, 
he  opened  his  little  shop  on  Midsummer  Day,  and  was 
highly  delighted  with  his  promotion.  '  My  good  wife,' 
he  tells  us,  *  perceiving  the  pleasure  I  had  in  my  shop, 
piously  cautioned  me  against  setting  my  mind  on  the 
riches  of  this  world,  and  assured  me  that  it  was  all  but 
vanity.  "You  are  right,  my  dear,"  I  replied.  "And 
to  keep  our  minds  as  spiritual  as  we  can,  we  will  always 
attend  our  class  and  band-meetings,  hear  as  many 
sermons  at  the  Foundry  on  week-days  as  possible,  and 
on  the  Sabbath  we  will  mind  nothing  but  the  good  of 
our  souls.  Our  small  beer  shall  be  fetched  on  Saturday 
nights,  and  we  will  not  dress  even  a  potato  on  the 
Sabbath.  We  will  still  attend  the  preaching  at  five  in 
the  morning ;  at  eight  go  to  the  prayer-meeting ;  at  ten 
to  the  public  worship  at  the  Foundry  ; l  hear  Mr.  Perry 

1  The  Foundry  was  a  disused  Government  building  for  the  casting  of 
brass  ordnance,  situated  on  Windmill  Hill,  now  Tabernacle  Street, 
Finsbury  Square.  Wesley  began  to  preach  here  in  1739. 

219 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

at  the  Cripplegate  at  two ;  be  at  the  preaching  at  the 
Foundry  at  five ;  meet  with  the  general  society  at  six ; 
meet  in  the  united  bands  at  seven ;  again  be  at  the 
prayer-meeting  at  eight ;  and  then  come  home  and  read 
and  pray  by  ourselves.1  One  would  have  thought  that 
only  a  Scotsman  could  draw  up  such  a  programme  of 
religious  exercises  for  the  day  of  rest. 

As  soon  as  the  first  lot  of  old  books  was  sold,  Lack- 
ington  borrowed  five  pounds  from  a  fund  established  by 
Wesley  for  the  assistance  of  deserving  members,  and 
increased  his  little  stock ;  but  he  and  his  wife  continued 
to  live  in  the  most  frugal  fashion,  chiefly  on  potatoes 
and  water.  By  the  end  of  six  months  the  value  of  the 
stock  had  increased  from  five  to  twenty-five  pounds. 
This  immense  property  its  owner  thought  too  valuable 
to  be  buried  in  Featherston  Street,  so  he  moved  to  a 
shop  in  Chiswell  Street,  where  he  bade  a  final  adieu  to 
the  'gentle  craft,'1  and  converted  all  his  leather  into 
old  books.  There  was  one  class  of  literature  that  he 
refused  to  sell,  namely,  free-thinking  works,  which  he 
conscientiously  destroyed  when  they  fell  into  his  hands. 
All  went  well  with  the  business  until  September  1775, 
when  Lackington  fell  ill  of  a  violent  fever.  Ten  days 
later  his  wife  was  seized  with  the  same  disorder,  of  which 
she  died  'in  enthusiastic  rant  on  November  the  9th, 
surrounded  by  Methodist  preachers.1 

Her  husband  observes  that  'she  was  in  reality  one  of 
the  best  of  women ;  and  although  for  about  four  years 
she  was  ill  the  greater  part  of  the  time,  which  involved 
me  in  the  very  depth  of  poverty  and  distress,  yet  I  never 
once  repented  having  married  her.  ?Tis  true  she  was 
enthusiastical  to  an  extreme,  and  of  course  very  super- 
stitious and  visionary ;  but  as  I  was  pretty  far  gone  myself, 
220 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

I  did  not  think  that  a  fault  in  her.  Indeed,  she  much 
excelled  me,  and  most  others  that  ever  fell  under  my 
observation,  as  she  totally  disregarded  every  kind  of 
pleasure  whatever  but  that  of  a  spiritual  nature.  Me- 
thinks,  I  see  you  smile,  but  I  assure  you  she  made  no 
exception,  but  was  a  complete  devotee,  and  what  is  more 
remarkable,  without  pride  or  ill-nature.1 

After  lying  ill  for  many  weeks,  Lackington  recovered, 
contrary  to  all  expectation.  Some  eighteenth-century 
prototypes  of  Mrs.  Gamp  had  kept  themselves  in  liquor 
at  his  expense,  and  stolen  all  his  linen ;  but  fortunately 
some  friends  had  locked  up  his  shop,  which  contained  all 
his  little  savings,  or  probably  they  too  would  have  dis- 
appeared. As  soon  as  he  was  about  again  he  learned  that 
the  lady  who  kept  the  house,  and  from  whom  he  rented 
his  shop,  had  also  caught  the  fever,  and  was  lying  danger- 
ously ill.  He  was  aware  that  she  had  supported  her 
father,  now  dead,  by  keeping  a  school  and  doing  plain 
needlework,  and  he  felt  convinced  that  so  good  a  daughter 
would  make  a  good  wife.  He  also  knew  that  she  was 
immoderately  fond  of  books,  and  frequently  read  till 
morning;  and  'this  turn  of  mind  was,'  he  writes,  'the 
greatest  of  all  recommendations  to  me  who,  having 
acquired  a  few  ideas,  was  restless  to  increase  them ;  so 
that  I  was  in  raptures  at  the  thought  of  having  a  woman 
to  read  with  and  to  read  to  me.  I  embraced  the  first 
opportunity  after  her  recovery  to  make  her  acquainted 
with  my  mind ;  and  as  we  were  not  strangers  to  each 
other,  there  was  no  need  of  a  long  formal  courtship. 
So  I  prevailed  on  her  not  to  defer  our  union  longer  than 
January  30th,  1776,  when  for  the  second  time  I  entered 
into  the  holy  estate  of  matrimony.1  It  will  be  observed 
that  the  widower  remained  faithful  to  the  memory  of 

221 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

the  best  woman  in  the  world  for  something  less  than 
three  months. 

Lackington  declares  that  his  mind  now  began  to 
expand,  and  he  learned  for  the  first  time  to  enjoy  innocent 
pleasures  without  the  fear  of  being  eternally  damned  for 
a  laugh,  a  joke,  or  a  sociable  visit.  He  also  set  himself 
to  read  the  works  of  rational  and  moderate  divines,  and 
'even  to  wander  in  the  mazes  of  metaphysics,  so  that  it 
is  hardly  surprising  he  did  not  remain  much  longer  in 
Wesley's  society.  Indeed,  Wesley  himself  was  accustomed 
to  say  that  he  could  never  keep  a  bookseller  in  his  fold  for 
more  than  six  months.  Our  hero's  desertion  of  Methodism 
seems  to  have  been  hastened  by  his  discovery  that  the 
preachers,  who  were  continually  reproving  employers  for 
keeping  their  servants  at  home  on  Sundays  to  dress  hot 
dinners,  themselves  refused  even  to  sup  without  roast 
fowls  and  other  luxuries.  At  the  same  time  that  he 
condemns  this  hypocrisy,  Lackington  refused  to  admit 
that  the  Methodists  were  in  general  the  vile  sect  of 
hypocrites  for  which  they  were  commonly  denounced. 
He  was  convinced  that  great  numbers  of  them  were 
sincere,  honest,  friendly  people,  though  there  were  others 
who  took  advantage  of  the  Methodist  phrases  and  customs 
to  advertise  their  own  honesty  and  sobriety.  Thus  one 
pious  brother  printed  on  a  board,  '  Tripe  and  cow  heels 
sold  here  as  usual,  except  on  the  Lord's  Day,  which  the 
Lord  help  me  to  keep"1 ';  while  another,  a  village  worthy, 
proclaimed,  'Roger  Tuttel,  by  God^s  grace  and  mercy, 
kills  rats,  moles,  and  all  sorts  of  vermin.' 

The  new  Mrs.  Lackington  helped  forward  her  husband 

in  his  business,  her  knowledge  of  books  enabling  her  to 

act  as  an  unpaid  assistant.     The  proprietor  of  the  little 

shop  soon  found  that  he  might  sell  double  and  treble 

222 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

the  number  of  volumes  if  only  he  had  the  capital  where- 
with to  buy  a  bigger  stock.  But  being  almost  a  stranger 
in  London,  he  was  without  credit,  and  often  was  obliged 
to  pawn  his  watch  and  clothes  in  order  to  purchase 
parcels  of  desirable  books.  At  length  a  neighbouring 
oilman  showed  his  faith  in  the  bookseller's  capacity  by 
offering  to  advance  him  the  money  necessary  to  increase 
his  stock,  about  two  hundred  pounds.  The  offer  was 
accepted,  and  in  1778  the  first  catalogue  was  printed, 
which  contained  the  titles  of  no  less  than  twelve  thousand 
volumes.  The  business  continued  to  prosper,  and  in  1780 
Lackington  decided  to  try  a  new  experiment.  In  future 
he  would  give  no  more  credit,  but  would  run  his  business 
strictly  upon  ready-money  lines.  His  notion  was  scoffed 
at  by  most  of  his  fellow-tradesmen,  but  he  paid  no  heed, 
and  marked  every  book  at  the  lowest  possible  price  for 
ready  money,  which,  being  much  lower  than  the  ordinary 
market-price,  soon  brought  a  great  influx  of  customers. 

To  modern  writers  the  views  of  this  eighteenth-century 
bookseller  on  the  thorny  question  of  publishing  should  be 
interesting,  though  they  would  certainly  be  condemned 
by  the  Society  of  Authors.  Nothing,  he  declares,  is 
more  common  than  to  hear  authors  complaining  against 
publishers  for  want  of  liberality  in  purchasing  their 
manuscripts ;  but  this  complaint  he  held  to  be  groundless, 
and  claimed  that  publishers  showed  even  more  liberality 
than  other  business  men.  '  It  ought  to  be  considered,1 
he  continues, '  that  the  money  that  is  paid  for  the  copy 
is  frequently  but  trifling  compared  with  the  expense 
of  printing,  paper,  and  advertising ;  and  that  many 
publishers  have  sustained  great  losses  through  their 
liberality  in  buying  manuscripts,  though  on  the  other 
hand  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  a  small  number  of 

223 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

publishers  have  made  great  fortunes  by  their  copy- 
rights.' As  an  instance  of  the  folly  of  authors  he  tells 
an  anecdote  of  a  gentleman  who,  when  publishing  a  book 
at  his  own  expense,  wished  to  print  as  many  copies  as 
there  were  families  in  Great  Britain.  As  a  concession  to 
his  publisher's  views  he  consented  to  print  a  first  edition 
of  only  60,000  copies.  Finally,  the  number  was  reduced 
to  1250 ;  but  though  the  work  was  well  advertised, 
not  a  hundred  copies  were  sold.  Lackington,  as  might 
be  expected,  did  not  approve  of  authors  keeping  their 
copyrights,  and  declared  that  publishers  seldom  do  their 
best  under  such  an  agreement. 

Even  after  unexpected  prosperity  had  blessed  his 
basket  and  his  store,  Mr.  Lackington  continued  for  some 
years  his  careful  and  frugal  mode  of  life,  taking  down 
his  own  shutters,  pricing  his  own  books,  and  writing 
his  own  catalogues.  At  first,  to  use  his  own  words,  'I 
welcomed  a  friend  with  a  shake  of  the  hand,  but  a  year 
later  I  beckoned  across  the  way  for  a  pot  of  good  porter. 
A  few  years  after  that  I  sometimes  invited  my  friends 
to  dinner,  and  provided  them  with  a  roasted  fillet  of 
veal;  in  a  progressive  course  the  ham  was  introduced, 
and  a  pudding  made  the  next  addition  to  the  feast.  For 
some  time  a  glass  of  brandy  and  water  was  a  luxury ; 
raisin  wine  succeeded;  and  as  soon  as  two-thirds  of  my 
profits  allowed  me  to  afford  good,  red  port,  it  appeared 
on  my  table,  nor  was  sherry  long  behind.'  In  the  same 
gradual  fashion  a  stage-coach  was  transformed  into  a 
chariot,  and  a  suburban  lodging  into  a  country  house. 

'  For  four  years  Holloway  was  to  me  an  Elysium  ;  then 

Surrey  appeared  the  most  beautiful  county  in  England, 

and  Merton  the  most  rural  village ;  so  now  Merton  was 

selected  as  the  seat  of  philosophical  retirement.'     The 

224 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

neighbours  all  prophesied  bankruptcy,  especially  when 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lackington  took  to  horse  exercise;  but 
when  the  expected  catastrophe  failed  to  arrive,  it  was 
generally  believed  that  the  lucky  man  must  have  won 
a  big  prize  in  a  lottery,  or  found  a  bundle  of  banknotes 
between  the  leaves  of  some  old  book. 

If  ever  there  was  the  right  man  in  the  right  place, 
it  must  have  been  James  Lackington  in  a  bookseller's 
shop.  His  early  passion  for  literature  seems  never  to 
have  grown  blunted,  even  when  he  had  the  most 
abundant  opportunities  of  satisfying  it.  He  read  every- 
thing :  philosophy,  poetry,  history,  travels,  translations 
of  the  classics,  novels,  plays,  and  latterly  even  free-think- 
ing works.  For  the  study  of  human  nature  he  believed 
that  there  was  no  place  like  a  book-shop,  especially  if 
the  master  happened  to  be  of  an  inquisitive  and  com- 
municative turn  of  mind.  To  him  would  come  Simple 
Simon  for  the  Art  of  Writing  Love  Letters,  a  doubting 
Christian  for  Crumbs  of  Comfort,  an  atheist  for  Ham- 
mond's Letter  to  Dr.  Priestly,  a  beau  for  The  Toilet  of 
Flora,  a  courtier  for  Macchiavelli's  Prince,  a  republican 
for  Paine's  Rights  of  Man,  and,  in  short,  every  man  for 
his  literary  fancy.  Lackington's  talent  for  observation 
was  useful  to  him  in  his  business,  and  he  assures  us  that 
he  was  generally  able  to  foretell  to  his  friends  at  the 
beginning  of  a  year  how  much  money  he  would  make  in 
the  course  of  it,  basing  his  calculations  upon  the  state 
of  Europe  and  his  own  stock-in-trade.  '  If  there  is  any- 
thing of  consequence  in  the  newspapers,1  he  observes, '  it 
draws  men  to  the  coffee-house,  where  they  chat  away  the 
evenings  instead  of  visiting  booksellers'"  shops,  or  reading 
at  home.  The  best  time  for  book-selling  is  when  there 
is  nothing  stirring,  for  then  many  of  those  who  for 
p  225 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

months  have  done  nothing  but  talk  of  war  and  peace, 
revolutions  or  counter-revolutions,  will  have  recourse  to 
reading.1  These  remarks  have  been  indorsed  almost  word 
for  word  by  booksellers  during  the  recent  war. 

The  sale  of  books  quadrupled  itself  between  1770  and 
1790,  many  of  the  small  farmers  and  country  labourers 
having  taken  to  reading,  who  before  had  spent  their 
winter  evenings  in  telling  stories  of  goblins  and  witches 
round  the  fire.  A  number  of  circulating  libraries  had 
also  been  started  in  all  parts  of  the  country,  a  proceeding 
that  at  first  much  alarmed  the  booksellers,  who  fancied 
that  the  sale  of  their  wares  would  be  greatly  diminished. 
Experience  proved,  however,  that  the  taste  for  reading 
having  become  more  general,  the  sale  of  books  rapidly 
increased.  The  opening  of  Sunday-schools  also  hastened 
the  diffusion  of  knowledge,  and  indirectly  benefited  the 
bookseller. 

Lackington's  own  purchases  had  now  become  very 
large.  He  prides  himself  upon  buying  a  thousand  or 
more  copies  of  a  single  work,  and  of  having  at  one  time 
no  less  than  ten  thousand  copies  of  Dr.  Watts's  Hymns  in 
stock.  He  astonished  his  contemporaries  by  his  custom 
of  keeping  his  books  quite  openly,  and  informing  his 
employees  at  the  beginning  of  each  week  how  much  the 
takings  of  the  previous  week  amounted  to.  In  the 
year  in  which  he  wrote  his  Memoirs,  1791,  his  profits 
amounted  to  ^4000,  and  seemed  likely  to  increase. 
Having  several  poor  relations,  he  decided,  though  his 
health  was  failing,  not  to  retire  from  business.  He  main- 
tained his  mother,  his  first  wife's  parents,  three  more 
aged  people,  and  four  children.  About  this  time  he  paid 
a  visit  to  his  native  village  in  Somersetshire,  amusing 
himself  on  the  journey  by  calling  upon  some  of  his 
226 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

former  employers  in  his  smart  chariot,  attended  by 
liveried  servants,  and  asking,  '  Pray,  sir,  have  you  got 
any  occasion  ?'  a  term  then  used  by  journeymen  seeking 
work.  The  bells  rang  out  for  his  arrival  at  Wellington, 
and  many  of  the  most  respectable  persons  visited  him, 
giving  as  their  reason  for  this  condescension  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Lackington  did  not  forget  himself  like  so  many 
upstarts,  nor  neglect  his  poor  relations. 

In  this  blaze  of  glory  the  Memoirs  come  to  an  end,  but 
the  numerous  editions  published  during  the  next  few 
years,  some  of  them  with  alterations  and  additions, 
enable  us  to  get  a  glimpse  at  our  hero  in  his  later  life. 
It  is  to  be  feared  that  unexampled  prosperity  proved  too 
much  for  the  little  bookseller's  good  sense,  and  almost 
threw  him  off  his  balance.  In  a  later  edition  of  his 
Memoirs  we  learn  that  the  second  Mrs.  Lackington  died 
in  1795.  Her  husband  wrote  her  epitaph,  and  observed 
that  he  had  been  married  to  two  of  the  best  of  women 
with  the  worst  of  constitutions,  but  that  he  hoped  Provi- 
dence had  another  good  wife  in  store  for  him.  He  did 
his  best  to  assist  Providence,  if  we  may  believe  a  con- 
temporary, by  advertising  in  the  Morning  Chronicle  for 
a  wife ;  and  after  setting  forth  his  excellent  parts,  and 
the  inimitable  graces  of  his  person,  his  distinguished 
situation,  his  country-house  and  his  chariot,  he  gave  it 
to  be  understood  that  no  lady  with  less  than  <£*20,000 
need  have  the  presumption  to  answer  his  advertisement. 
He  obtained  a  wife,  though  history  does  not  say  whether 
she  had  the  desired  fortune.  But  fate  continued  to 
smile  upon  him.  His  profits  increased,  and  when 
Finsbury  Square  was  built  he  erected  at  one  corner  an 
immense  new  shop  which  he  called  '  The  Temple  of  the 
Muses/ 

227 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

So  successful  a  man  was  bound  to  have  enemies  as  well 
as  admirers.  Scandalous  chroniclers  have  recorded  some 
of  the  antics  that  Lackington  indulged  in  when  his  good 
fortune  had  affected  his  brain.  On  his  arrival  at  his 
town-house  from  Merton,  a  flag  used  to  be  hoisted  on 
the  roof,  which  flaunted  in  the  breeze  during  his  stay, 
but  was  struck  on  his  departure.  On  one  occasion,  when 
he  was  on  a  visit  to  Cambridge  with  the  famous  chariot, 
an  ostler  charged  sixpence  to  the  townspeople  who  were 
desirous  of  seeing  the  splendid  equipage.  Lackington, 
hearing  of  this  charge,  ordered  that  the  chariot  should 
be  brought  round  and  exhibited  for  some  hours  gratis. 
At  one  time  a  project  was  in  agitation  of  a  statue  to  be 
put  up  in  the  newly-built  Finsbury  Square.  Lackington 
offered  his  own  figure,  and  promised  that  if  his  fellow- 
citizens  would  erect  a  statue  to  him  the  whole  expense 
should  come  out  of  his  pocket.  This  noble  offer  was 
somewhat  curtly  refused.  A  plan  for  issuing  a  quantity 
of  halfpence  with  his  own  image  and  superscription  met 
with  no  better  success. 

These  and  other  eccentricities,  together  with  the 
publication  of  his  autobiography,  which  was  naturally 
regarded  as  a  stupendous  puff',  marked  him  out  as  a  prey 
to  the  caricaturist  and  lampooner.  One  of  the  numerous 
family  of  Pindar,  Peregrine  by  name,  addressed  in  1795 
an  Ode  to  the  Hero  of  Finsbury  Square,  congratu- 
lating him  on  his  third  marriage,  and  on  his  genius  as 
his  own  biographer.  This  poem,  which  was  issued  by  a 
rival  bookseller,  was  accompanied  by  a  clever  cartoon 
representing  Mr.  Lackington  in  the  act  of  stepping  into 
his  chariot  off  a  pile  of  books,  while  a  crowd  of  raga- 
muffins watch  him  with  awe  and  admiration.  He  carries 
a  volume  of  his  Memoirs  under  his  arm,  and  upon  the 
228 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

hammer-cloth  of  the  chariot  is  his  family  motto,  '  Small 
profits  do  great  things,1  while  in  the  background  is  the 
Temple  of  the  Muses,  with  the  flag  flying.  In  mock- 
heroic  stanzas,  illustrated  by  notes,  the  poet  makes  cruel 
fun  of  the  hero,  his  autobiography,  his  three  marriages, 
his  temple,  his  proffered  statue,  and  the  rest  of  his 
vagaries.  One  verse  may  be  quoted  as  a  specimen  of 
Peregrine  Pindar's '  satiric  vein.  '  Behold,'  he  exclaims — 

'  Behold  the  flag  with  streamer  gay  unfurled  ! 
Behold  the  multitude  with  staring  brow  ! 
The  Hero  comes — the  Wonder  of  the  World, 
Merton  is  left,  and  Moorfields  has  him  now. 
Approach,  ye  Shopmen,  and  with  bows  profound, 
Greet  your  great  Lord  with  bodies  to  the  ground. ' 

Lackington,  who  had  taken  a  partner  named  Allen  in 
his  later  years,  retired  from  business  altogether  in  1798, 
making  over  his  share  in  the  Temple  of  the  Muses  to 
his  cousin  George  Lackington.  A  characteristic  letter 
addressed  by  the  retiring  partner  to  the  new  firm  is  here 
printed  for  the  first  time.  It  is  dated  'Two  o'clock, 
February  14,  1799,'  and  runs  as  follows : — 

'  GENTLEMEN, — Although  you  are  now  in  the  sole 
possession  of  a  prosperous  trade  by  which  you  are  each 
likely  to  make  a  fortune,  and  in  case  a  Peace  should  soon 
take  place,  a  large  one,  and  although  some  of  you  are 
already  possessed  of  a  great  deal  of  property,  and  the 
rest  of  you  have  a  very  handsome  sum  to  begin  with, 
add  to  this  my  good  opinion  of  your  industry  and 
caution,  etc.,  yet  on  a  serious  consideration  I  believe  you 
will  not  blame  me  for  doing  all  in  my  power  to  preserve 
from  risk  the  moderate  fortune  which  by  much  difficulty 
and  industry  I  am  now  possessed  of.  By  this  time  I 
suppose  you  have  easely  gest  [guessed]  that  I  am  going 

229 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

to  point  out  the  necessity  of  my  advertising  the  public 
of  the  dissolution  of  the  partnership.  It  is  possible 
(though  unlikely)  that  the  dissoluters  of  Europe  may 
have  the  plundering  of  London  (for  you  will  know  that 
in  London  are  many  traiters  to  this  country).  A  fire 
may  consume  your  stock,  and  by  some  misrepresentation 
or  failure  in  punctillis,  you  may  not  be  able  to  recover. 
You,  like  others,  may  neglect  to  insure,  servants  may 
ruin  you,  many  of  you  live  at  a  distance;  as  others 
marry  the  shop  is  likely  to  be  nearly  deserted.  Your 
own  good  sense  will  suggest  to  you  other  cases  that  will 
justify  me  in  taking  every  precaution,  and  I  hope  and 
believe  that  each  of  you  are  so  cautious  that  you  would 
(were  you  in  my  situation)  do  the  very  same  as  I  pro- 
pose to  do.  Indeed,  it  would  be  the  highest  degree  of 
imprudence  in  any  one  to  risk  his  all  even  although  the 
chance  in  his  favour  was  five  hundred  to  one. 

'  On  the  other  side  you  have  a  copy  of  the  advertise- 
ment. It  would  perhaps  have  been  enough  had  I  only 
said,  J.  Lackington  informs  the  public  that  he  is  no 
longer  a  partner  in  the  Bookselling  trade  carried  on  in 
the  Temple  of  the  Muses.  But  though  I  am  informed 
that  the  Gazette  charges  dear  for  every  line,  I  could  not 
be  satisfied  with  the  common  laconic  style,  as  I  think  the 
manner  in  which  I  have  drawn  it  up  may  be  of  great 
service  to  you.  Should  you  wish  to  make  any  alteration 
in  the  advertisement,  be  pleased  to  make  it,  and  return 
it  to  me  that  I  may  form  my  own  judgment  upon  it. 
I  am,  gentlemen,  Your  humble  servant, 

'J.  LACKINGTON. 

P.S. — If  any  of  you  gentlemen  will  get  it  inserted  in 
the  Gazette,  and  order  the  Gazette  in  which  it  shall  be 
230 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

inserted  to  be  sent  to  my  address,  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
him  that  will  take  that  trouble.  But  if  disagreeable,  I 
must  get  one  of  my  old  acquaintance  among  the  trade  to 
oblige  me,  as  I  have  no  friend  that  understands  the 
nature  of  such  things  but  among  the  trade.  I  must 
have  the  receipt  for  the  money  paid  for  the  advertisement 
as  paid  by  me. 

2nd  P.S. — Perhaps  it  may  not  be  useless  to  say  that  if 
you  have  any  substantial  friends  that  will  give  me  a 
bond  of  indemnity  for  twenty  thousand  pounds,  I  at 
present  think  that  will  do,  and  prevent  my  advertisement. 
I  sopose  you  will  be  able  to  give  me  an  answer  in  two  or 
three  posts.1 

On  his  retirement  Lackington  seems  to  have  given 
up  his  house  at  Merton,  for  he  bought  two  small  estates 
at  Alveston,  where  he  built  a  Methodist  chapel,  and 
became  an  amateur  preacher.  This  may  create  some 
surprise,  but  the  fact  is  that  after  his  third  marriage 
he  had  become  reconverted  to  Methodism,  which  change 
of  heart  he  had  made  known  to  the  world  in  his 
Confessions,  published  in  1803.  In  his  preface  to  this 
little  book,  which  is  very  inferior  to  the  Memoirs,  he 
formally  announces  his  return  to  his  old  faith,  and 
recants  his  former  errors,  in  the  hope  that  his  case  may 
serve  as  a  warning  to  others,  and  '  an  alarm  to  some  of 
those  who  are  fallen  into  that  dreadful  state  of  infidelity 
from  which,  by  the  great  mercy  of  God,  I  am  happily 
escaped.'  He  further  expresses  his  abhorrence  of  those 
parts  of  his  autobiography  in  which,  through  the  side  of 
Methodism,  he  had  even  attacked  the  Church  of  England, 
and  his  regret  that  his  late  firm  had  recently  published  a 
new  edition  of  the  work. 

231 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

Adam -like,  Lackington  attributes  his  falling  away 
from  grace  to  the  influence  of  his  second  wife,  who  was 
passionately  fond  of  novel-reading,  with  which  taste  she 
so  infected  her  husband  that  at  last  he  neglected  both  his 
religion  and  his  business  in  order  to  indulge  it.  By 
degrees  he  gave  up  reading  his  Bible,  ceased  to  attend 
public  worship,  associated  with  sceptics,  and  no  longer 
observed  the  Lord's  Day.  He  imagined  that  faith  had 
no  effect  upon  morals ;  but  when  his  own  morals  became 
so  relaxed  that  he  played  cards  on  Sunday,  he  owns  to 
feeling  some  uneasiness.  He  took  to  reading  books  on 
divinity  again,  and,  having  recovered  some  of  his  former 
taste  for  that  kind  of  literature,  desired  to  impart  it  to 
others,  and  began  the  good  work  upon  his  third  wife. 
He  describes  her  as  being  in  moral  conduct  the  most 
perfect  being  he  had  ever  seen,  but  her  only  motive  for 
this  superlative  excellence  was  that  '  she  thought  she 
ought  to  be  as  good  as  she  could,'  and  apart  from  this 
she  had  not  the  slightest  knowledge  of  religion,  nor  did 
she  see  any  use  in  going  to  church.  Her  husband  began 
operations  by  reading  to  her  Seeker's  and  Gilpin's  dis- 
courses, at  first  only  one  every  Sunday,  then  two  or  three 
in  the  week,  until  at  last  *  Mrs.  L.1  said  that  she  preferred 
divinity  to  fiction. 

When  Lackington,  after  many  struggles,  was  com- 
pletely reconverted,  he  began  to  feel  distressed  at  the 
ignorant  and  irreligious  state  of  the  poor  people  in  his 
neighbourhood,  most  of  whom  could  not  read,  and  never 
went  to  church.  He  started  a  Sunday-school  in  the 
village,  and  invited  a  Methodist  preacher  to  come  and 
hold  open-air  meetings.  Later,  as  has  been  said,  he 
built  a  chapel,  and  occasionally  preached  himself,  besides 
distributing  tracts  and  visiting  the  sick.  In  1806  he 
232 


JAMES  LACKINGTON 

removed  to  Taunton,  where  he  spent  =£3000  upon  another 
chapel,  over  the  door  of  which  was  the  inscription — 

*  This  Temple  is  erected  as  a  monument  of  God's 
mercy  in  convincing  an  Infidel  of  the  important  Truths 
of  Christianity.  Man,  consult  thy  whole  existence  and 
be  safe.1 

A  quaint  little  note  addressed  to  his  old  firm,  and 
dated  August  9,  1806,  may  here  be  quoted  as  illustrative 
of  Lackington's  orthography,  and  also  of  his  two  chief 
interests,  his  sermons  and  his  banking  account : — 

'  GENTLEMEN  [it  runs], — In  a  few  days  I  Purpose  to 
remove  to  Taunton,  and  request  you  to  direct  the  first 
three  papers  to  me  at  Mr.  John  Smith's,  Hoisor  [hosier], 
North  Street,  after  the  first  three  then  to  me  in  Canon 
Street,  Taunton.  The  three  copies  of  Mr.  Wesley's 
Sermons  please  to  put  by  at  5s.,  as  you  mentioned ; 
should  an  appertunity  offer  of  puting  them  into  any 
parcel  for  Taunton  please  to  send  them,  otherwise  put 
them  bye.  If  you  will  just  set  down  in  figures  the 
Ballance  which  I  have  in  my  Banker's  hand  you  will 
further  oblige,  gentlemen,  yours,  etc., 

'J.  LACKINGTON.' 

Having  quarrelled  with  the  Wesleyan  preachers  at 
Taunton,  Lackington  removed  to  Budleigh  Salterton, 
where  he  built  and  endowed  a  third  chapel,  and  spent 
the  remainder  of  his  life.  He  died  of  apoplexy  in  1815, 
being  then  in  his  seventieth  year.  A  long  notice  on  his 
remarkable  career  appeared  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine, 
and  he  also  received  mention  in  Nichols's  Literary  Anec- 
dotes. His  Memoirs  went  through  thirteen  editions,  and 
received  the  unusual  honour  of  being  translated  into 
German.  For  some  years  longer  the  Temple  of  the  Muses 

233 


continued  to  flourish  in  Finsbury  Square.  Knight  the 
publisher,  in  his  Shadows  of  the  Old  Booksellers,  relates 
that  when  he  was  about  ten  years  old  (in  1801)  his 
father  took  him,  as  a  great  treat,  to  see  this  famous 
Temple.  Over  the  principal  entrance  was  the  inscription, 
'  Cheapest  Booksellers  in  the  World.1  In  the  interior 
was  an  immense  circular  counter,  while  a  broad  staircase 
led  up  to  the  *  lounging-rooms '  and  a  series  of  galleries 
round  which  books  were  displayed,  growing  gradually 
cheaper  and  shabbier  in  appearance  as  they  neared  the 
roof.  If  there  was  any  chaffering  or  haggling  about  the 
cost  of  a  work,  the  shopman  merely  pointed  to  a  placard 
on  which  was  printed,  '  The  Lowest  Price  is  marked  on 
every  book,  and  no  abatement  is  made  on  any  article.' 
George  Lackington,  who  succeeded  his  cousin  James,  con- 
tinued to  sell  cheaply  for  cash,  but  was  more  inclined 
towards  publishing  speculations,  and  it  was  he  who 
offered  five  hundred  pounds  for  the  autobiography  of 
Richard  Cumberland.  The  business  was  still  being 
carried  on  in  Finsbury  Square  in  1822,  but  a  little  later 
it  was  removed  to  Piccadilly,  and  the  name  of  Lackington 
disappeared  from  the  firm.  Many  of  the  best-known 
booksellers  of  the  nineteenth-century  are  said  to  have 
received  their  training  in  the  famous  house  that  had 
been  founded  by  the  illiterate  little  West  Country  shoe- 
maker. 


234 


MRS.  GRANT   OF   LAGGAN 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

(1755-1838) 

PART  I.  GIRLHOOD 

IT  may  be  remembered  that  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  in 
a  letter  to  Mr.  Sidney  Colvin  dated  Christmas,  1880, 
announces  his  intention  of  writing  a  History  of  the 
Highlands  (an  interesting  catalogue  might  be  compiled 
of  the  unwritten  books  of  the  best  authors),  and  dilates 
upon  the  vast  number  of  delightful  writers  with  whom  lie 
shall  have  to  deal  in  the  section  devoted  to  literature — 
Johnson,  Boswell,  'Ossian1  Macpherson,  Mrs.  Grant  of 
Laggan,  and  Scott.  Again,  in  the  charming  Memoirs  of 
a  Highland  Lady  published  a  few  years  ago,  the  heroine 
alludes  more  than  once  to  '  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Grant  of 
Laggan  1 ;  while  references  to  the  same  lady  occur  in 
Lockharfs  Life  of  Scott.  Whatever  may  be  the  case 
with  Scottish  readers,  it  is  probable  that  few  Southrons 
could  answer  off-hand  the  question,  '  Who  is  Mrs.  Grant 
of  Laggan?1  or  claim  any  familiarity  with  her  works. 
Yet  in  the  opening  years  of  this  century  Mrs.  Grant 
was  one  of  the  idols  of  literary  society  both  in  London 
and  Edinburgh,  while  her  Letters  from  the  Mountains 
achieved  a  popularity  that  has  only  been  rivalled  by 
the  productions  of  our  modern  Kailyard  School.  Her 

237 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

vogue  beyond  doubt  was  genuine,  and  the  enthusiasm  she 
aroused  spontaneous,  for  she  was  the  pet  of  no  special 
clique,  and  the  critics,  both  northern  and  southern,  were 
either  cold  or  neglectful.  It  was  the  public  of  the  two 
kingdoms  that  took  her  to  its  heart,  wrote  to  assure  her 
of  its  admiration,  sent  her  substantial  presents,  and 
carried  her  triumphantly  through  many  editions. 

In  the  course  of  time  the  fickle  public  forgot  the  Lady 
of  Laggan  even  more  completely  than  it  forgets  most  of 
its  favourites ;  and  now  she  only  lives  in  the  memories  of 
a  few  lovers  of  Highland  literature,  who  find  a  charm  like 
that  which  lingers  about  a  tuft  of  sun-dried  heather  in 
her  once  famous  Letters  from  the  Mountains.  Stevenson, 
as  we  have  seen,  describes  her  as  a  delightful  writer ;  but 
even  had  all  the  glamour  faded  out  of  her  work,  she 
deserves  to  be  remembered  for  the  good  service  she 
rendered  to  her  countrymen  by  singing  the  praises  of 
Highland  character  and  Highland  scenery  at  a  time  when 
it  was  the  fashion  in  this  country  to  despise  everything 
north  of  the  Tweed,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Tay.  In  the 
eighteenth  century  Southrons  had  been  taught  by  such 
authorities  as  Burt,  Johnson,  and  Pennant  that  the  High- 
lands were  barren  deserts,  the  men  frightful  savages,  and 
the  women  mere  beasts  of  burden.  Burt,  writing  of  the 
scenery,  observes :  '  There  is  not  much  variety  in  it,  but 
gloomy  spaces,  different  rocks,  and  heather  high  and  low. 
They  appear  one  above  the  other,  the  whole  of  a  dismal 
brown,  drawing  upon  a  dirty  purple,  and  most  of  all  dis- 
agreeable when  the  heather  is  in  bloom.''  Even  Goldsmith 
declared  that  in  Highland  scenery  *  hills  and  rocks  inter- 
cept every  prospect.'  Mrs.  Grant  may  perhaps  be  accused 
of  having  idealised  the  character  and  manners  of  her 
countrymen,  but  then  she  was  a  lady  who  looked  upon 
238 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

life  through  rose-coloured  glasses,  and  asked  little  of  her 
surroundings  beyond  nature  and  simplicity.  It  is  probable 
that  she  did  more  than  any  other  writer  except  Sir  Walter 
to  dissipate  our  national  prejudice  against  the  Scots,  and 
to  open  English  eyes  to  the  beauty  of  the  '  land  of  brown 
heath  and  shaggy  wood.1 

The  future  chronicler  of  the  little  village  on  the  Spey 
had  a  far  more  eventful  childhood  than  fell  to  the  lot 
of  most  of  her  feminine  contemporaries.  In  a  fragment 
of  autobiography  written  by  herself  in  old  age,  she  tells 
us  that  she  was  born  in  1755,  at  Glasgow,  being  the  only 
child  of  Duncan  Macvicar, '  a  plain,  brave,  pious  soldier,1 
and  of  his  wife,  a  Miss  Stewart  of  Invernahayle.  In  1757 
Macvicar,  who  held  a  commission  in  the  77th  Foot,  sailed 
with  his  regiment  for  America,  where  the  Seven  Years1 
War  was  then  raging.  In  1758  Mrs.  Grant  and  her  little 
daughter  Anne  went  out  to  join  the  head  of  the  family, 
but  on  arriving  at  Charleston  found  that  he  was  absent 
on  the  Pittsburg  expedition.  For  some  time  they  drifted 
about,  now  in  Pennsylvania,  now  in  New  York,  till  in 
1760  they  accompanied  the  regiment  from  Albany  to 
Oswego,  making  the  long  romantic  voyage  up  the 
Mohawk  river  in  large  boats,  sometimes  sleeping  in  the 
woods,  sometimes  in  the  forts,  which  formed  a  chain  of 
posts  in  the  then  trackless  wilderness.  On  the  way, 
Anne,  who  delighted  in  the  freedom  and  adventure  of 
the  life,  and  cared  nothing  for  the  wolves  that  howled 
from  the  surrounding  hills,  was  presented  to  Hendish, 
King  of  the  Mohawks,  who  gave  her  a  little  basket  of 
dried  berries,  and  for  whose  sake  she  liked  kings  the 
better  all  her  life  after.  *  We  had  no  books,1  she  writes 
in  later  years, '  but  the  Bible  and  some  military  treatises ; 
but  I  grew  familiar  with  the  Old  Testament,  and  a  Scotch 

239 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

sergeant  brought  me  Blind  Harry's  Wallace,  which  by  the 
aid  of  the  said  sergeant  I  conned  so  diligently  that  I  not 
only  understood  the  broad  Scotch,  but  caught  an  admira- 
tion for  heroism,  and  an  enthusiasm  for  Scotland  that 
has  ever  since  been  like  a  principle  of  life.1  A  copy  of 
Milton  was  studied  on  the  return  journey,  a  year  later, 
and  not  only  became  one  of  the  principal  factors  in  the 
child's  education,  but  was  also  the  means  of  obtaining 
for  her  the  friendship  of  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
American  women  of  that  period,  Madame  Schuyler,  who 
lived  in  Albany,  where  Captain  Macvicar  was  stationed 
for  the  next  three  or  four  years  with  a  detachment  of  his 
regiment. 

Colonel  and  Madame  Schuyler  had  won  well-deserved 
renown  for  the  manner  in  which  they  dispensed  hospi- 
tality to  respectable  strangers,  protected  the  new  settlers, 
helped  to  alleviate  the  hardships  suffered  by  the  British 
troops,  and  acted  as  the  guardian  angels  of  the  poor 
Indians  of  the  district.  '  Some  time  after  our  arrival  at 
Albany,'  continues  the  autobiography,  '  I  accompanied 
my  parents  to  visit  Madame  Schuyler,  whom  I  regarded 
as  the  Minerva  of  my  imagination.  The  conversation 
fell  upon  dreams  and  forewarnings.  I  rarely  spoke  till 
spoken  to  at  any  time,  but  of  a  sudden  the  spirit  moved 
me  to  say  that  bad  angels  sometimes  whispered  dreams 
to  the  soul.  When  asked  for  my  authority,  I  surprised 
every  one,  but  myself  most  of  all,  by  a  long  quotation 
from  Eve's  fatal  dream  l  (in  Paradise  Lost)  which  infused 
into  her  mind  the  ambition  that  led  to  guilt.  After  this 
happy  quotation  I  became  a  great  favourite  with  Madame 

1  '  When  nature  rests, 
Oft  in  her  absence  mimic  fancy  wakes 
To  imitate  her,'  etc. 

240 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

Schuyler,  who  never  failed  to  tell  any  one  who  had  read 
Milton  the  origin  of  her  partiality.  While  we  remained 
in  America  I  enjoyed  much  of  Madame  Schuyler's  society, 
and  after  my  father  removed  from  Albany  I  spent  two 
winters  with  her  in  that  city.  Indeed,  if  my  parents 
would  have  parted  with  me,  she  would  have  kept  me 
entirely  with  herself :  whatever  culture  my  mind  received 
I  owe  to  her.' 

When  peace  was  concluded  the  British  Government 
granted  allotments  of  land  to  retired  officers,  two  thou- 
sand acres  to  each.  Captain  Macvicar  not  only  took  up 
his  own  allotment,  but  bought  at  a  low  price  the  rights 
of  other  officers  who  were  returning  to  England,  and 
soon  became  the  owner  of  a  large  amount  of  property  in 
New  Vermont,  where  he  intended  to  settle  down.  His 
health  giving  way,  however,  he  decided  to  return  to  his 
native  land,  leaving  his  affairs  in  charge  of  a  friend. 
This  estate,  which  he  regarded  as  a  comfortable  provision 
for  his  family,  was  '  swallowed  up,1  to  use  his  daughter's 
expression,  in  the  American  Rebellion;  in  other  words, 
it  was  seized  during  those  troubled  times  by  disbanded 
soldiers  and  lawless  characters  who,  when  peace  was 
restored,  had  the  nine  points  of  the  law  in  their  favour, 
and  refused  to  accede  to  the  federation  of  the  other 
states,  if  their  rights  were  called  in  question.  The 
Macviears  arrived  at  Glasgow  in  May,  1768,  after  en- 
countering one  continued  storm  in  a  small  ill-found 
vessel.  Anne,  then  in  her  fourteenth  year,  was  at  first 
sought  after  as  something  curious  and  anomalous,  possess- 
ing none  of  the  fashionable  feminine  accomplishments,  yet 
unusually  familiar  with  books  and  all  that  regarded  the 
face  of  nature.  In  spite  of  her  unlikeness  to  other  girls 
of  her  age,  she  made  one  or  two  friendships  at  this  period 
Q  241 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

which  neither  time  nor  absence  interrupted,  and  which 
only  death  had  power  to  break. 

Captain  Macvicar  had  a  share  in  a  commercial  business, 
but  in  1773  he  was  offered  the  post  of  barrack-master 
of  Fort  Augustus,  and  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of 
a  military  employment.  Anne,  then  not  quite  eighteen, 
by  no  means  disliked  the  idea  of  a  life  in  the  solitary 
Highland  station,  though  it  was  not  without  a  wrench 
that  she  parted  from  her  Glasgow  friends.  The  famous 
Letters  from  the  Mountains  begin  abruptly  with  an  ac- 
count of  the  leisurely  journey  to  Fort  Augustus  by  way 
of  Inveraray,  Oban,  and  Fort  William.  There  is  a  touch 
of  youthful  pedantry  in  her  frequent  allusions  to  the 
Odyssey  which  she  carries  with  her  in  the  chaise,  and  in 
her  complaint,  'I  can  always  get  people  to  laugh  with 
me ;  but  the  difficult  thing  is  to  get  one  "  soft,  modest, 
melancholy  female  fair  "  that  will  be  grave  with  me,  and 
enter  into  my  serious  and  sober  reflections.1  Again, 
while  riding  over  the  lonely  moors  she  is  supported  by 
a  benevolent  project  for  the  reformation  of  certain  female 
friends.  *  I  mean,1  she  writes,  '  such  of  them  as  say  or  do 
no  great  harm,  but  who  bewilder  their  brains  and  waste 
their  time  among  endless  mazes  of  ribbon  and  lace 
and  tattle  and  tales.  I  am  convinced  some  solitary 
pilgrimages  over  the  brown  moors  might  wean  them 
from  this  trifling,  and  teach  them  to  think,  and  then 
"  on  reason  build  resolve,11  which  might  be  found  a 
column  of  true  dignity,  even  in  women.  The  general 
result  of  my  meditations  was  that  we  should  be  oftener 
alone.' 

There  is  many  a  romantic  description  of  the  beauties 
of  Loch  Lomond,  Glen  Falloch,  and  Glencoe  which  no 
doubt  charmed  the  equally  romantic  friend  to  whom  they 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

were  addressed,  but  which  would  certainly  be  skipped  by 
the  modern  reader.  A  more  original  note  is  struck  in  a 
letter  from  Oban,  dated  May  3, 1773,  the  note  of  admira- 
tion for  the  Highland  character  which  set  the  key  to  so 
much  of  Mrs.  Grant's  published  work.  '  Do  you  know,' 
she  remarks,  'the  Highlanders  resemble  the  French  in 
being  poor  with  a  better  grace  than  other  people.  If 
they  want  certain  luxuries  or  conveniences  they  do  not 
look  embarrassed  and  make  you  feel  awkward  by  petty 
apologies,  which  you  don't  know  how  to  answer;  they 
rather  dismiss  any  sentiment  of  that  kind  by  a  playful 
raillery  for  which  they  have  a  talent.  People  hereabouts, 
when  they  have  good  ancestry,  education,  and  manners, 
are  so  supported  by  the  consciousness  of  those  advan- 
tages, that  they  seem  not  the  least  disconcerted  by  the 
deficiencies  of  fortune.  Is  it  not  a  blessed  thing  that 
there  is  a  place  where  poverty  is  respectable  and  deprived 
of  its  sting  ? ' 

At  Oban  the  travellers  stayed  for  some  time  at  the 
house  of  an  elderly  gentleman,  alluded  to  as  '  The  Col- 
lector,' with  whom  Anne  declares  that  she  has  fallen 
deeply,  hopelessly  in  love,  though  he  is  seventy  and  has 
been  thrice  married.  But  then  he  is  so  lively,  well  bred, 
and  intelligent.  '  If  his  are  the  manners  of  the  old  court, 
I  wish  I  had  lived  a  little  earlier.  .  .  .  He  delights  to 
talk  of  his  "  last  friend,"  who  I  believe  was  an  amiable 
woman,  and  lived  happily  with  him  for  the  short  time 
their  union  lasted,  though  the  difference  of  age  amounted 
to  little  less  than  fifty  years!'  It  was  here  that  Anne 
had  her  first  experience  of  a  Highland  service,  being 
taken  by  her  friends  to  church  at  Kilmore,  some  four 
miles  off.  *  It  is  by  no  means  a  Jewish  Sabbath  that  is 
kept  here,'  she  observes.  '  It  would  be  bold  to  call  it 

243 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

strictly  a  Christian  one ;  be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  a  very 
cheerful  one.  We  set  out  on  horseback  in  a  shower  of 
snow  which  people  here  mind  no  more  than  hair-powder. 
.  .  .  This  was  an  odd  old  church,  almost  ruinous,  but 
when  the  preacher  came  in  he  roused  all  my  attention. 
I  never  beheld  a  countenance  so  keenly  expressive,  nor 
such  dark  piercing  eyes.  When  I  began  to  look  about, 
the  dresses  and  countenances  of  the  people  presented  new 
matter  of  speculation.  This  is  certainly  a  fine  country 
to  grow  old  in ;  I  could  not  spare  a  look  to  the  young 
people,  so  much  was  I  engrossed  in  contemplating  their 
grandmothers.  They  preserve  the  form  of  dress  worn 
some  hundred  years  ago.  Stately,  erect,  and  self-satisfied, 
without  a  trace  of  the  languor  or  coldness  of  age,  they 
march  up  the  area  with  gaudy-coloured  plaids  fastened 
about  their  breasts  with  a  silver  brooch  like  the  full  moon 
in  size  and  shape.  They  have  a  peculiar  lively  blue  eye, 
and  a  fair  fresh  complexion.  Round  their  heads  is  tied 
a  plain  kerchief,  and  on  each  cheek  is  a  silver  lock  which 
is  always  cherished,  and  considered  as  a  kind  of  decora- 
tion. .  .  . 

'I  was  trying  to  account  for  the  expression  in  the 
countenance  of  those  cheerful  ancients,  while  the  pastor 
was  holding  forth  in  the  native  tongue.  Now  here  is  the 
result : — People  who  are  for  ever  consecrating  the  memory 
of  the  departed,  and  hold  the  virtues,  nay,  the  faults  of 
their  ancestors  in  such  blind  veneration,  see  much  to  love 
and  revere  in  their  parents  that  others  never  think  of. 
The  old  people,  treated  with  unvaried  tenderness  and 
veneration,  feel  no  diminution  of  their  consequence,  no 
chill  in  their  affections.  .  .  .  Observe,  moreover,  that 
they  serve  for  song-books  and  circulating  libraries,  so 
faithfully  do  they  preserve,  and  so  accurately  detail,  the 
244 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

tales  of  the  times  of  old  and  the  song  of  the  bards. 
All  this  makes  them  the  delight  of  the  very  young  in 
the  happy  period  of  wonder  and  simplicity,  and  finding 
themselves  so  prevents  their  being  peevish  or  querulous. 
...  I  was  waked  out  of  a  pleasing  reverie  by  the  beadle 
coming  to  ask  if  I  had  any  Gaelic,  because  if  I  had  not 
there  was  to  be  an  English  discourse.  Judge  of  my  im- 
portance in  having  a  sermon  preached  for  my  very  self. 
...  A  new  and  very  amusing  scene  opened  when  service 
was  over.  We  were  ushered  into  a  kind  of  public-house 
where  it  seems  all  the  genteel  part  of  the  congregation 
usually  meet,  converse,  and  take  refreshments  while  their 
horses  are  preparing.  The  Kirk  here  is  literally  accounted 
a  public  place,  and  frequented  from  very  different  motives. 
People  not  singularly  pious  cross  ferries  and  ride  great 
distances  in  bad  weather,  not  solely,  I  fear,  to  hear  the 
glad  tidings  in  church,  but  to  meet  friends  in  this  good- 
humoured  kindly  way,  after  sermon,  who  can  tell  them 
all  about  their  eighteenth  cousins  in  India  and  America.'' 
The  cynosure  of  the  assembly  was  an  old  major,  with 
tartan  coat,  large  silver  buttons  worn  in  Montrose's  wars 
by  his  grandfather,  and  abundant  silver  locks  adorning  a 
countenance  the  picture  of  health  and  benignity.  With 
him  were  his  three  thin  upright  sisters  and  his  nine 
cousins,  who  amidst  all  their  oddity  were  mountain 
gentlewomen.  There  was  little  scandal  talked ;  for  the 
dead  being  the  principal  subject  of  conversation,  the 
living  escaped  calumny.  'I  am  resolved  for  my  part,1 
declares  Anne,  'to  die  in  the  Highlands,  that  I  may 
avoid  the  sudden  oblivion  which  swallows  up  the  departed 
among  polished  people  who  disguise  selfishness  under  the 
pretence  of  not  being  able  to  endure  to  have  their  fine 
feelings  disturbed  with  the  mention  of  the  dead.' 

245 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

Like  most  young  women  of  marked  character  who  have 
early  learned  to  think  for  themselves,  Anne  found  it 
difficult  to  adapt  herself  to  ordinary  female  society,  or 
to  make  allowance  for  the  follies  and  frivolities  of  girls 
of  a  different  calibre  from  herself.  In  one  of  the  letters 
written  during  her  stay  at  Oban  in  a  family  which,  with 
the  exception  of  its  head,  was  not  particularly  congenial 
to  her,  she  writes : — 

'  I  cannot  fatigue  myself  or  you  with  the  description 
of  this  day ;  you  will  find  it  in  Thomson,  "  Deceitful, 
vain,  and  void  passes  the  day."  Why  should  I  speak 
peevishly  of  good-humoured  people  who  show  a  wish  to 
please  me  ?  Why  am  I  not  pleased  with  trifles  when  the 
best  of  us  are  doomed  to  pass  a  great  part  of  our  lives 
in  a  manner  which  our  own  reflections  must  call  trifling  ? 
But  then  I  should  like  to  trifle  my  own  way.  I  could 
play  half  a  day  with  sweet  little  Anne,  or  even  with  a 
sportive  kitten  or  puppy.  I  could  gather  shells  and  sea- 
weed on  the  shore,  or  venture  my  neck  for  nests  that  I 
would  not  plunder  after  finding  them ;  nay,  I  could  talk 
nonsense  as  we  used  to  do,  and  laugh  heartily  at  vagaries 
of  our  own  contriving ;  but  their  nonsense  I  can't  for  my 
life  relish ;  they  think  it  wit,  and  I  caift  accredit  it  as 
such.  Then  they  think  cunning  wisdom,  and  mistake 
simplicity  for  folly.  Do  not  think  that  I  indulge  myself 
in  the  conceit  of  not  caring  for  anybody  unless  they  have 
the  taste  for  reading  which  great  leisure  and  solitude  in 
a  manner  forced  upon  me,  but  I  would  have  people  love 
truth  and  nature,  I  would  have  them  look  a  little  into 
the  great  book  which  their  Maker  has  left  open  to  every- 
body.1 

With  her  host,  the  Collector,  Anne  had  already  struck 
up  a  warm  friendship.    He  lent  her  books,  and  encouraged 
246 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

her  to  write  down  her  reflections  and  impressions  on  the 
subjects  of  her  reading.  But  on  the  whole  she  was  not 
sorry  to  depart  on  his  Majesty's  wherry  for  Fort  William, 
where  the  party  arrived  about  May  the  12th.  The 
wherry  had  a  very  stormy  passage,  and  the  captain  was 
forced  to  put  in  for  shelter  opposite  Port  Appin,  the 
passengers  taking  refuge  in  the  house  of  an  unknown  lady. 
*  We  were  received,1  says  Anne,  '  with  a  kind  of  stately 
civility  by  a  tall,  thin  person,  a  widow — pale,  wan,  and 
woe-begone.  She  never  asked  who  we  were  until  a  good 
fire  and  most  comfortable  tea-drinking  put  us  in  humour 
to  make  replies.  She  then  asked  my  mother  if  we  were 
connected  with  the  country.  Now  we  had  just  left  my 
father's  country,  and  entered  my  mother's.  She  told  the 
good  lady  her  whole  genealogy,  by  no  means  omitting 
the  Invernahayle  family,  on  which  the  old  lady  rose  with 
great  solemnity,  crying,  '  All  the  water  in  the  sea  cannot 
wash  your  blood  from  mine,1  and  a  tender  embrace  was 
followed  by  a  long  dissertation  on  the  Invernahayle 
family.1 

Fort  William,  where  another  stay  was  made,  found  no 
favour  in  the  girl's  critical  eyes.  *  It  is,'  she  declared,  '  a 
seaport  without  being  animated ;  it  is  a  village  without 
the  air  of  peace  and  simplicity ;  it  is  military  without 
being  gay  and  bold-looking ;  it  is  country  without  being 
rural ;  it  is  Highland  without  being  picturesque  and 
romantic;  it  has  plains  without  verdure,  hills  without 
woods,  mountains  without  majesty,  and  a  sky  without 
a  sun.1  Even  the  river  she  describes  as  looking  gloomy 
and  stupid,  while  the  far-famed  Ben  Nevis  is  a  great 
clumsy  mountain,  which,  as  far  as  a  mountain  can  re- 
semble a  man,  resembles  the  person  Smollett  has  marked 
out  by  the  name  of  Captain  Gawky.  At  this  time  the 

247 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

young  traveller  is  full  of  the  tragedy  of  Glencoe,  and 
relates  the  familiar  story  in  picturesque  and  impassioned 
style.  An  anecdote  of  another  dismal  period  is  told 
in  the  same  letter,  and  will  probably  be  new  to  most 
readers. 

'  There  was  an  English  major,1  so  it  runs,  '  who  in  the 
absence  of  the  governor  commanded  the  garrison  of 
Fort  William  in  the  year  1746.  At  that  time,  after 
much  previous  severity,  a  free  pardon  was  offered  to  all 
the  lower  class  who  would  deliver  up  their  arms ;  those 
found  with  weapons  in  their  possession  had  no  mercy  to 
expect.  After  supper  one  night,  when  the  commandant 
and  his  officers  were  enjoying  their  bowl  in  this  house, 
the  sergeant  of  the  guard  came  in,  and  said  there  were 
three  men  brought  in  with  their  arms, — what  should  be 
done  with  them  ?  "  What  but  hang  them  ? "  said  the 
major,  impatient  of  disturbance.  Now  this  was  owing 
to  the  sergeant's  inaccuracy  of  expression.  The  poor 
men,  in  fact,  were  coming  in  with  their  arms  to  deliver 
them  up,  and  meeting  one  of  the  outposts  by  the  way, 
accompanied  them  to  the  garrison.  When  the  giant 
awoke  from  his  wine,  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  look 
out  of  the  window,  and  the  first  object  he  saw  was  the 
bodies  of  these  unhappy  men  hung  over  a  mill  opposite. 
He  was  filled  with  horror,  not  recollecting  his  last  night's 
order.  When  it  was  explained  to  him  that  the  poor 
creatures  came  to  receive  the  proffered  mercy,  the  intelli- 
gence threw  him  into  a  deep  and  lasting  melancholy.  My 
father,  though  of  all  Whigs  the  bluest,  speaks  with  horror 
of  this  transaction,  and  says  he  saw  a  very  pretty  young 
widow  come  to  that  mill  the  following  winter,  whose 
father,  brother,  and  husband  had  been  the  sufferers.' 
It  was  in  those  days  a  long  and  fatiguing  j  ourney  on 
248 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

horseback  over  the  brown  moors  to  Fort  Augustus.  The 
letters  give  a  vivid  description  of  Glenmore,  the  great 
valley  that  opens  across  Scotland  from  sea  to  sea,  and  of 
its  fast-following  lakes  linked  by  filial  streams,  which, 
as  the  writer  says,  'invite  art  to  the  aid  of  nature  in 
forming  a  canal  that  should  divide  Scotland;  but  that 
will  be  the  business  of  a  wiser  and  a  richer  century/ 
Just  thirty  years  later,  in  1803,  the  Caledonian  Canal 
was  begun,  but  it  was  not  completed  until  1847.  On 
passing  the  ruins  of  Achnacarry,  the  home  of  the 
Camerons,  Anne  relates  with  pride  how  '  when  Lochiers 
estate  was  forfeited,  the  tenants  paid  the  usual  rent  to 
the  Crown,  and  also  paid  voluntarily  a  rent  to  support 
LochiePs  family  abroad.  When  the  demesne  was  taken 
by  some  friends  for  their  behoof,  the  tenants  stocked  it 
with  cattle  of  all  kinds.  This  too  was  pure  benevolence  ; 
and  to  this  my  grandfather,  one  of  that  faithful  band, 
amply  contributed.1 

For  General  Wade's  famous  military  roads  our  heroine 
had  no  great  appreciation,  and  refused  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  they  would  civilise  the  people  as  speedily 
and  effectually  as  was  expected.  '  The  people,1  she  asserts, 
'  were  very  civil  when  they  were  well  treated ;  they  were 
so  agile  and  familiar  with  their  own  bye-paths,  and  so 
accustomed  to  go 

"Over  moor,  over  mire, 
Thoro'  bush  and  thoro'  briar," 

that  I  am  not  clear  they  will  always  forsake  their  old 
short  cuts  for  the  pleasure  of  going  ten  miles  round  on 
hard  gravel.  These  roads  will  afford  access  to  strangers 
who  dislike  and  despise,  because  they  do  not  understand 

249 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

them  ;  and  to  luxuries  they  cannot  afford  to  pay  for,  and 
would  be  happier  without.  Early  accustomed  to  savage 
life,  I  have  not  the  horror  at  it  that  wiser  people  have. 
As  far  as  regards  this  world,  I  am  not  sure  how  much 
my  old  Mohawk  friends  have  to  gain  by  being  civilised, 
nor  are  my  expectations  very  sanguine  of  the  felicity 
which  more  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  will  produce 
here.1 

Fort  Augustus  is  described  as  a  miniature  New  York 
as  to  situation,  the  fort  itself  being  the  prettiest  little 
thing  imaginable.  '  You  would  suppose  some  old  veteran 
had  built  himself  a  house  with  a  ditch  and  drawbridge 
to  remind  him  of  his  past  exploits.1  The  society  was 
almost  exclusively  military,  and  naturally  limited  in  its 
ideas  and  conversation.  '  Nobody  will  care  for  me,"* 
writes  Anne,  luxuriating  after  youthful  fashion  in  the 
prospect  of  undeserved  loneliness  and  neglect,  'because 
nobody  will  understand  me.  I  cannot  blame  them.  I 
am  too  rustic,  too  simple  at  least,  for  people  of  the  world, 
with  whom  manner  is  everything;  and  though  myself 
uneducated,  I  painfully  feel  that  I  have  too  much  refine- 
ment, too  much  delicacy,  for  uninformed  people  with 
whom  I  have  no  point  of  union  but  simplicity.  ...  Our 
garrisonians  are  diverting  originals,  but  their  restlessness 
and  discontent  provoke  me.  Military  people  always 
speak  with  pleasure  of  the  place  where  they  have  been, 
or  are  going,  but  are  never  satisfied  where  they  are. 
They  are  generally  well  bred  and  entertaining,  but  often 
hard  and  heartless  at  bottom,  and  always  arbitrary  in 
their  families  when  they  have  them.  They  rail  constantly 
at  this  place,  yet  perhaps  they  will  never  be  so  happy 
when  they  leave  it.  I  would  rather  be  a  beetle  under 
a  stone  than  a  dragon-fly  blown  with  every  blast.' 
250 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

Quite  an  ordeal  was  the  first  visit  to  the  commandant's 
wife,  for  the  lady  was  London-bred,  had  a  great  fortune, 
and  was  what  the  men  called  very  smart.  '  She  was  a 
terrification  to  me,1  writes  the  stranger.  '  I  put  on  my 
lilac,  as  you  may  well  believe,  but  neither  that  nor  my  new 
bonnet  inspired  me  with  confidence.  I  was  much  worse 
when  I  went  to  the  Governor's.  The  young  lady,  from 
whom  I  would  fain  have  looked  for  a  little  companion- 
ship, interested  but  overawed  me.  She  was  polite,  and 
that  is  all  one  expects  at  first ;  but  I  am  sure  she  could 
not  like  me  if  she  wished  it — I  was  so  awkward,  and  so 
sensible  of  being  awkward,  and  so  afraid  of  being  laughed 
at.  I  envy  those  people  whose  spirits  are  kept  up  by 
the  hope  of  admiration ;  mine  are  always  kept  down  by 
the  fear  of  ridicule.' 

The  girl  found  her  chief  resources  in  her  books,  her 
rambles  over  the  moors,  and  her  correspondence  with  her 
friends.  To  the  Collector  she  writes  long  letters  contain- 
ing critical  analyses  of  the  books  that  he  has  lent  her, 
mostly  biographies  of  celebrated  men,  such  as  Cromwell, 
Charles  xn.,  and  Peter  the  Great.  On  June  20,  1773, 
however,  she  tells  him  that  her  attention  has  been  com- 
pletely engrossed  by  a  'new'  novel  called  The  Vicar  of 
Wdkefield) l  which  he  must  certainly  read.  'Goldsmith,' 
she  observes,  *  puts  me  in  mind  of  Shakespeare ;  his 
narrative  is  improbable  and  absurd  in  many  instances, 
yet  all  his  characters  do  and  say  so  exactly  what  might 
be  supposed  of  them,  if  so  circumstanced,  that  you 
willingly  resign  your  mind  to  the  sway  of  this  pleasing 
enchanter,  laugh  heartily  at  improbable  incidents,  and 
weep  bitterly  for  impossible  distresses.  .  .  'Tis  a  thou- 
sand pities  that  Goldsmith  had  not  patience  or  art  to 

1  Published  in  1766. 

251 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

conclude  suitably  a  story  so  happily  conducted ;  but  the 
closing  scenes  rush  on  so  precipitately,  are  managed  with 
so  little  skill,  and  wound  up  in  such  a  hurried  and  really 
bungling  manner,  that  you  seem  hastily  awakened  from 
an  affecting  dream.  Then  miseries  are  heaped  on  the 
poor  Vicar  with  such  barbarous  profusion,  that  the 
imagination,  weary  of  such  cruel  tyranny,  ends  it  by 
breaking  the  illusion.1 

Not  a  bad  piece  of  criticism  for  a  self-educated  girl 
of  eighteen !  The  Collector  was  not  unnaturally  im- 
pressed, and  inquired  the  source  whence  so  much  pre- 
mature information  and  reflection  had  been  derived.  In 
reply,  Anne  gives  a  little  sketch  of  Madame  Schuyler ; 
and  declares  that  whatever  culture  her  mind  had  received 
she  owed  to  this  friend  of  her  childhood,  whose  house 
was  an  academy  for  morals,  for  manners,  and  for  solid 
knowledge.  'Many  particulars  relative  to  this  excellent 
person's  life  and  manners,1  she  remarks,  'would  be  well 
worth  preserving;  and  if  I  outlive  her,  I  think  I  will, 
some  time  or  other,  endeavour  to  please  myself  at  least 
by  preserving  a  memoir  of  a  life  so  valuable  and  im- 
portant.1 This  project,  conceived  in  early  girlhood,  was 
carried  out  thirty  years  later,  when  in  her  Memoirs  of  an 
American  Lady  the  writer  succeeded  in  producing  a  book 
that  pleased  the  public  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

In  June,  1774,  Anne  journeyed  with  a  friend  to 
Inverness,  intending  to  stay  only  a  few  days,  but  between 
kindness  and  contrary  winds  the  visitors  were  detained 
three  weeks.  The  town  at  that  time  had,  according  to 
our  chronicler,  'a  very  genteel  society,  and  one  meets 
with  many  well-bred,  agreeable  people.  They  have 
assemblies  every  fortnight,  gayer  than  the  Glasgow  ones, 
which  may  be  accounted  for  by  their  being  attended  by 
252 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

the  neighbouring  gentry,  who  are  numerous  and  polite. 
Nothing  took  my  fancy  so  much  as  the  ladies.  They  are 
really  showy,  handsome  women,  excellent  dancers,  and 
have  the  best  complexions  I  ever  saw.  Indeed,  you  can 
seldom  meet  with  a  young  lady  who  does  not  remind 
vou  of  the  beauties  in  old  romances.1  Another  visit  to 

•/ 

some  cousins  at  Perth  was  not  productive  of  unmixed 
pleasure ;  and  there  is  a  Jane- Austen-like  touch  about 
the  complaint  that  the  hostesses  were  'too  civil  to  let 
us  alone,  too  desirous  of  entertaining  to  hold  their 
tongues  a  moment,  too  observant  to  let  us  look  serious 
without  asking  why  we  were  so  dull,  or  out  of  the 
window  without  taxing  us  with  being  wearied  of  them. 
In  short,  we  did  not  get  our  elbows  on  the  tea-table  while 
we  stayed.  Then  we  had  continual  invitations  from 
agreeable  people  in  the  town,  which  we  accepted  the 
readier  as  we  were  not  quite  the  thing  at  home,  and  that 
was  misprision  of  treason.' 

The  five  or  six  years  spent  at  Fort  Augustus  passed 
peacefully,  if  somewhat  monotonously,  for  the  barrack- 
master's  daughter.  The  life  and  the  society  of  the  place 
are  summed  up  neatly  enough  in  a  letter  dated  March, 
1777.  'You  have  no  idea  how  townified  folks  are  in 
these  little  garrisons,  and  how  these  small  circles  ape  the 
manners  of  the  great  world  they  have  reluctantly  left 
behind  them.  We  too  have  our  visits  and  our  scandals 
brought  from  thirty  miles  distant.  When  any  one  marries, 
we  all  sit  in  judgment,  and  are  sure  to  find  some  fault 
with  either  party,  as  if  it  were  our  own  cousin ;  and 
when  any  one  dies  within  twenty  miles,  we  are  all  very 
busy  sounding  their  praises,  and  contrive  to  rake  a  good 
many  virtues  from  among  their  ashes  that  we  never  gave 
them  credit  for  till  they  were  out  of  the  reach  of  envy. 

253 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

When  Madame  La  Commandante  receives  any  new  article 
of  dress,  we  all  fly  to  admire  it,  and  then  hurry  away 
to  wash  gauzes,  or  in  some  other  imperfect  manner  to 
contrive  a  humble  imitation  of  it.  Believe  that  our 
antiquated  beaux  and  belles  do  everything  in  the  country 
that  yours  do  in  the  town,  only  with  more  languor  and 
ill  humour.  When  they  walk  'tis  on  the  hard  gravel 
road  to  get  an  appetite ;  when  they  read  'tis  some 
periodical  matter,  to  doze  away  time  till  the  card-party 
begins.  .  .  .  They  are  ever  pining  for  want  of  company 
they  could  ill  afford  to  keep,  and  public  places  which  it 
would  ruin  them  to  frequent.  They  strive  to  exalt  our 
idea  of  their  former  consequence  by  regretting  that  there 
are  no  noblemen's  seats  at  a  visiting  distance,  and  that 
tumblers  and  rope-dancers  never  come  this  way.' 


PART  II.    MARRIAGE 

IN  May,  1779,  Anne  Macvicar  was  married  to  a  member 
of  the  numerous  Grant  clan,  a  young  clergyman  who 
had  formerly  been  chaplain  to  the  garrison,  but  who 
for  the  past  three  years  had  ministered  to  the  spiritual 
needs  of  the  parish  of  Laggan,  a  remote  and  solitary 
village  on  the  spurs  of  the  Grampians  between  Kingussie 
and  Fort  William.  Even  in  these  days  it  lies  outside 
the  beaten  track  of  tourists,  since  no  railway  has  yet 
invaded  those  mountain  fastnesses.  In  a  letter  to  a 
friend  written  a  couple  of  months  after  the  marriage, 
Mrs.  Grant  explains  that  the  man  for  whom  she  has 
made  'the  greatest  of  all  sacrifices'  is  an  old  acquaint- 
ance of  her  correspondent's,  and  continues : — 

'After  staying  two  months  at  the  Fort,  and  wandering 
254 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

many  days  through  our  old  delightful  haunts,  we  have  at 
length  taken  up  our  residence  in  the  pastor's  cottage,  which 
is  literally  pastoral.  Here  we  have  since  continued,  not 
enjoying  the  ideal  felicity  of  romances,  but  that  rational 
and  obtainable  degree  of  happiness  which  is  derived 
from  a  sincere  mutual  esteem,  health,  tranquillity,  and  a 
humble,  grateful  consciousness  of  being  placed  in  a  situa- 
tion equally  remote  from  the  cares  of  poverty  and  the 
snares  of  wealth.  You  know  of  old  my  notions  of 
matrimony,  and  how  meanly  I  thought  of  the  usual  state 
of  happiness  enjoyed  by  those  who  enter  into  willing 
subjection.  This  has  proved  an  advantage  to  me,  as 
I  had  no  sanguine  expectations  to  be  disappointed,  and 
find  more  of  the  attention  and  complacency  of  a  lover 
in  the  husband  than  I  expected.  We  were  indeed  mis- 
taken in  the  character  of  our  friend ;  he  has  neither  the 
indifference  nor  the  tranquillity  we  gave  him  credit  for. 
Wrapped  up  in  his  natural  reserve,  he  baffled  our  penetra- 
tion. Would  you  think  it  ?  He  is  generous,  impetuous, 
and  acute  in  all  his  feelings.  His  delicacy  is  extreme, 
and  he  has  as  nice  and  jealous  a  sense  of  honour  as  any 
Spaniard.' 

The  life  of  a  Highland  village  was  evidently  far  more 
to  Mrs.  Grant's  taste  than  that  of  town  or  garrison.  In 
the  Letters  from  the  Mountains  there  is  not  a  single 
word  of  complaint  of  the  loneliness,  the  hardships,  or 
the  inconveniences  of  such  an  existence.  She  nearly 
always  writes  of  Laggan  in  sunshine,  with  the  flowers 
blooming  and  the  stream  singing  over  the  stones.  In 
the  autobiographical  fragment  she  explains  that  'Mr. 
Grant  having  been  placed  in  the  parish  of  Laggan  three 
years  before,  his  popularity  was  secured  by  his  manners 
and  conduct;  mine  was  of  more  difficult  attainment, 

255 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

because  I  was  not  a  native  of  the  country,  and  High 
landers  dislike  the  intrusion  of  a  stranger.  However,  I 
had  both  pride  and  pleasure  in  overcoming  difficulties. 
Thus,  by  adopting  their  customs,  studying  the  Gaelic 
language,  and,  above  all,  not  wondering  at  anything  local 
or  peculiar,  I  acquired  that  share  of  the  goodwill  of  my 
new  connections,  and  the  regard  of  the  poor,  without 
which,  even  with  the  fond  affection  of  a  fellow  mind,  such 
a  residence  would  scarcely  have  been  supportable.  ...  I 
acquired  a  taste  for  farming,  led  a  life  of  fervid  activity, 
and  had  a  large  family  of  children,  all  promising,  and 
the  greater  number  of  them  beautiful.' 

It  is  evident  that  Mrs.  Grant  took  a  pride  in  her 
multifarious  duties,  and  fully  returned  the  affection  of 
the  people.  Her  husband  held  a  farm  on  very  easy 
terms  from  the  Duke  of  Gordon,  which  supported  a 
dozen  cows  and  a  couple  of  hundred  sheep ;  while  there 
was  a  range  of  summer  pasture  on  the  mountains  for  the 
young  stock.  '  This  farm,'  she  writes,  '  supplies  us  with 
everything  absolutely  necessary ;  even  the  wool  and  flax 
that  our  handmaidens  manufacture  to  clothe  the  chil- 
dren are  our  own  growth.  I  am  very  fond  of  the  lower 
class  of  the  people ;  they  have  sentiment,  serious  habits, 
and  a  kind  of  natural  courtesy ;  in  short,  they  are  not 
mob.  .  .  .  There  is  a  plentiful  lack  of  wealth  and 
an  abundant  scarcity  of  knowledge ;  but  our  common 
people  have  not  often  low,  sordid  notions,  cant  phrase- 
ology, nor  the  callous  hardness  that  marks  that  class 
of  mind  in  whatever  situation.  Our  people,  though 
they  lose  their  native  character  when  they  learn  lan- 
guages, or  mingle  with  the  canaille  of  other  countries, 
retain  here  a  good  deal  of  the  Fingalian  liberality  and 
courtesy,  of  that  tenderness  of  sentiment,  that  elevated 
256 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

generosity  that  casts  a  lustre  over  the  brown  deserts  of 
Morven.1 

The  Grant  children,  twelve  in  number,  all  learned  to 
lisp  Gaelic  in  their  infancy,  and  their  mother  often  dwelt 
upon  the  pleasure  that  her  acquaintance  with  that 
original  and  emphatic  language  had  afforded  her.  '  I  am 
determined,'  she  says,  '  that  my  children  shall  drink  from 
the  pure  wells  of  Celtic  undefiled.  They  shall  taste  the 
animated  and  energetic  conversation  of  the  natives,  and 
an  early  acquaintance  with  the  poetry  of  nature  shall 
guard  them  against  false  taste  or  affectation.  I  never 
desire  to  hear  an  English  word  out  of  their  mouths  till 
they  are  four  or  five  years  old.  How  I  should  delight 
in  grafting  elegant  sentiments  and  just  notions  on  simple 
manners  and  primitive  ideas.  That  is  just  the  Forte- 
piano  character  that  we  always  wish  for  and  seldom 
meet.1 

Mrs.  Grant  soon  became  an  adept  at  farming,  an 
occupation  which  in  the  Highlands  was  left  chiefly  to 
the  female  members  of  a  family.  '  You  Londoners,1  she 
says  in  one  letter,  'have  no  idea  of  the  complicated 
nature  of  Highland  farming,  nor  of  the  odd  customs 
that  prevail  here.  Formerly,  from  the  wild  and  warlike 
nature  of  the  men,  they  thought  no  rural  employments 
compatible  with  their  dignity.  Fighting,  hunting,  loung- 
ing in  the  sun,  music  and  poetry,  were  their  occupations. 
This  naturally  extended  the  women's  province  both  of 
management  and  labour,  the  care  of  the  cattle  being 
peculiarly  their  own.1  This  custom  roused  indignation 
in  the  breasts  of  the  few  English  travellers  who  pene- 
trated into  the  remoter  Highlands.  Pennant  declares 
that  the  women  trudged  to  the  fields  in  droves,  like 
beasts  of  burden,  and  were  so  loaded  with  harvest  labours 
R  257 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

that  it  was  small  wonder  they  became  withered  and 
wrinkled  hags  at  an  age  when  the  more  fortunate  of 
their  sex  were  still  in  their  prime.  Happily  for  them- 
selves, the  Highland  matrons  saw  no  cause  for  self-pity 
in  their  hard-working  lives.  The  Lady  of  Laggan 
certainly  regarded  the  matter  from  an  optimistic  point 
of  view.  'Though  the  men  are  now  civilised  to  what 
they  were,'  she  observes,  '  yet  the  custom  of  leaving  the 
weight  of  all  cares  on  the  more  helpless  sex  still  continues, 
and  has  produced  this  one  good  effect,  that  they  are  from 
this  habit  less  helpless  and  dependent.  The  men  think 
they  preserve  dignity  by  this  mode  of  management ; 
the  women  find  a  degree  of  power  and  consequence  that 
they  would  not  exchange  for  inglorious  ease.1 

In  the  summer  the  cattle,  most  of  the  farm-servants, 
and  some  of  the  children  were  sent  up  to  the  mountain 
pastures,  at  which  time  the  commissariat  required  most 
careful  organisation,  the  lines  of  communication  being 
very  long,  though  fortunately  there  was  no  enemy  to 
harass  them.  In  one  of  her  letters  Mrs.  Grant  attempts 
to  give  an  outline  of  her  occupations  during  a  typical 
Monday  in  June.  *  I  mention  Monday,'  she  says,  '  because 
it  is  the  day  on  which  all  dwellers  in  the  glens  come 
down  for  supplies.  Item,  at  four  o'clock  Donald  arrives 
with  a  horse  loaded  with  butter,  cheese,  and  milk.  The 
former  I  must  weigh  instantly.  He  only  asks  an  additional 
blanket  for  the  children,  a  covering  for  himself,  two  milk- 
tubs,  a  cog,  two  stone  of  meal,  a  quart  of  salt,  and  two 
pounds  of  flax  for  the  spinners.  He  brings  the  intelli- 
gence that  the  old  sow  has  become  the  joyful  mother  of  a 
dozen  pigs,  and  requests  something  to  feed  her  with.  All 
this  must  be  ready  in  an  hour,  before  the  conclusion  of 
which  comes  young  Ronald  from  the  high  hills  where  our 
258 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

sheep  and  horses  are  all  summer,  and  desires  meat,  salt, 
and  women  with  shears  to  clip  the  lambs.  He  informs 
me  that  the  black  mare  has  a  foal,  but  is  very  low,  and  I 
must  send  some  one  to  bring  her  to  the  meadows  before 
he  departs.  Then  the  tenants  who  do  us  services  come ; 
they  are  going  to  stay  two  days  in  the  oak-wood  cutting 
timber  for  our  new  byre,  and  must  have  a  provision  of 
bread,  cheese,  and  ale.  Then  I  have  Carols  breakfast  to 
get,  Janet's  hank  to  reel,  Kate^s  lesson  to  hear,  and  her 
sampler  to  rectify,  and  all  must  be  over  by  eleven  o'clock. 
Meanwhile  his  reverence,  calm  and  regardless  of  all  this 
bustle,  wonders  what  detains  me,  urging  me  out  to  walk, 
while  the  soaring  larks  and  smiling  meadows  second  the 
invitation.  .  .  .  Now  I  will  not  plague  you  with  a  detail 
of  the  whole  day.  Yet  spare  your  pity ;  for  this  day  is 
succeeded  by  an  evening  so  sweetly  serene,  our  walk  by 
the  river  is  so  calmly  pleasing,  our  conversation  in  the 
long- wished -for  hour  of  rest  so  interesting,  and  then  our 
children ! — say  you  wish  me  more  leisure,  but  do  not 
pity  me.' 

The  picture  is  idyllic  enough,  but  the  modern  reader 
feels  inclined  to  ask  why  '  his  reverence '  should  not  have 
lent  a  helping  hand  with  the  affairs  of  his  farm  instead  of 
wondering  what  all  the  bustle  was  about.  But  life  was 
not  all  work  at  Laggan,  though  one  marvels  how  the 
mistress  of  the  house  found  time  for  anything  beyond  her 
domestic  duties,  which  included  the  bearing  and  rearing 
of  twelve  children.  There  are  visits  to  the  numerous 
Grant  relations,  and  an  occasional  journey  to  Fort 
George,  where  Captain  Macvicar  had  now  settled,  and 
where  the  people  were  '  incredibly  polished,  powdered, 
townified  and  Englified,  the  ladies  being  as  great  adepts 
in  the  modish  chitchat  and  the  modish  games  as  any 

259 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

of  their  sisters  in  Grosvenor  Square/  Many  of  the 
'  genteeler '  class,  retired  officers,  old  Indian  civil  servants, 
and  the  like,  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Laggan, 
whither,  in  spite  of  its  remoteness  and  obscurity,  Mrs. 
Grant  declared  that  her  sworn  foe,  the  ton,  pursued,  over- 
took, and  surrounded  her. 

The  rustic  gaieties  of  the  people  she  could  always  enter 
into  and  enjoy.  In  one  letter  there  is  a  detailed  account 
of  the  wedding  of  two  trusty  retainers,  the  bride  having 
served  the  family  eight  years,  and  the  bridegroom  seven. 
Four  fat  sheep  and  abundance  of  poultry  were  slain  for 
the  supper  and  the  following  breakfast,  which  latter  was 
served  in  Chinese  fashion  to  the  superior  class.  '  At  the 
feast  above  one  hundred  persons  assisted,  the  music  and 
dancing  being  superior  to  anything  you  can  imagine. 
Mr.  Grant  took  a  fancy  to  be  very  wise  and  serious,  and 
reproved  our  host  for  killing  so  many  sheep  and  collect- 
ing so  many  people,  and  wondered  at  me  for  being 
pleased.  I  never  saw  him  so  ungracious  before,  but  he 
was  not  well.  Every  one  was  quiet,  orderly,  and  happy 
in  the  extreme.  I  considered  it  was  hard  to  grudge  this 
one  day  of  glorious  felicity  to  those  who,  though  doomed 
to  struggle  through  a  life  of  hardship  and  penury,  have 
all  the  love  of  society,  the  taste  for  conviviality,  and  even 
the  sentiment  that  animates  social  intercourse,  and  con- 
stitutes the  most  enviable  part  of  enjoyment  in  higher 
circles.  It  would  be  cruel  to  deprive  such  of  the  single 
opportunity  their  life  affords  of  being  splendidly  hospit- 
able, and  seeing  all  those  to  whom  nature  allied  them 
rejoice  together  at  a  table  of  their  own  providing ;  and  of 
seeing  that  table  graced  by  such  of  their  superiors  as  they 
have  been  used  to  regard  with  a  mixed  sentiment  of  love 
and  veneration.  This  scene  is  such  as  cannot  take  place 
260 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

but  in  these  regions ;  here  only  you  may  condescend 
without  degradation,  for  here  only  is  the  bond  between 
the  superior  and  inferior  classes  a  kindly  one.  I  cannot 
exactly  say  where  the  fault  lies ;  but  cold  disdain  on  the 
one  side,  and  a  gloomy  and  rancorous  envy  on  the  other, 
fix  an  icy  barrier  between  the  classes  with  you.' 

We  make  acquaintance  with  several  of  the  Laggan 
notabilities,  chief  among  these  being  a  venerable  sibyl 
who  knits  garters,  sings  her  native  airs,  and  bids  fair  to 
rival  Old  Parr.  '  In  her,1  says  Mrs.  Grant,  '  I  have  all 
the  pleasure  of  an  old  woman's  conversation  without  the 
plague  of  gossiping;  for  if  she  has  any  scandal,  King 
William  is  the  subject  of  it.  She  is  full  of  anecdote,  but 
scorns  to  talk  of  anything  that  happened  within  the  last 
thirty  years.  Madame  de  Maintenon  is  the  heroine  of 
her  imagination  ;  she  talks  of  her  as  if  she  were  still  living, 
and  constantly  quotes  the  ivory  wheel  with  which  she 
spun  Lewis  into  subjection  to  our  girls ;  for  she  considers 
spinning  one  of  the  cardinal  virtues,  and  is  at  this  hour 
spinning  fine  wool  on  the  distaff,  of  which  she  proposes 
making  garters  for  the  Marquis  [of  Huntley].' 

The  humours  and  superstitions  of  the  country-side 
were  regarded  with  a  kindly  eye  by  the  pastoress  of 
Laggan,  who  considered  even  the  darkest  superstition 
infinitely  preferable  to  the  cynicism  and  scepticism 
imported  from  France.  It  is  in  an  appreciative  spirit 
that  she  records  an  anecdote  related  to  her  by  one 
of  her  dairymaids,  who  was  a  perfect  treasury  of  local 
legend. 

'Yesterday  fortnight,1  so  runs  the  tale  in  the  maid's 

own  words,  *  the  Minister  of  M in  Athol,  you  know — 

well,  his  dairymaid  went  into  the  byre  and  put  out  all  the 
cows  but  one,  who  lay  down  and  would  not  move.  "  Get 

261 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

up,"  says  the  maid.  "  I  won't  get  up,"  says  the  cow.  "  But 
you  shall,"  says  the  girl,  a  little  startled.  "  Go  to  your 
master  and  bid  him  come  here,"  says  the  cow.  So  the 
girl  went,  and  her  master  came  into  the  byre.  "  Get  up," 
said  he  to  the  cow.  "  No,  I  won't,"  said  she ;  "  I  want  to 
speak  to  you."  "  Say  on,"  said  the  Master,  "  since  you 
are  permitted."  The  cow  began  :  "  Expect  a  summer  of 
famine,  a  harvest  of  blood,  and  a  winter  of  tears."  Then 
the  cow  got  up  and  went  about  her  business.'  This  fine 
story,  comments  the  mistress,  gains  ample  credit,  and  it 
would  be  thought  impiety  to  doubt  it. 

Books  and  news  travelled  but  slowly  into  those 
mountain  regions,  but  both  were  eagerly  appreciated 
when  at  last  they  arrived.  In  the  autumn  of  1788  we 
hear  that  the  bard  of  bards,  James  Macpherson,  '  who 
has  reached  the  mouldy  harp  of  Ossian  from  the  withered 
oak  of  Selma,  is  now  moving  like  a  meteor  over  his 
native  hills.  .  .  .  This  bard  is  as  great  a  favourite  of 
fortune  as  of  fame,  and  has  got  more  by  the  old  harp  of 
Ossian  than  most  of  his  predecessors  could  draw  out  of 
the  silver  strings  of  Apollo's.  He  has  bought  three  small 
estates  in  this  country,  given  a  ball  to  the  ladies,  and 
now  keeps  a  hall  of  hospitality  at  Belleville,  his  newly 
purchased  seat  [near  Kingussie].1  Mrs.  Grant  was  to 
the  last  a  firm  believer  in  the  genuineness  of  'Ossian' 
Macpherson's  finds,  and  not  all  the  incredulity  of  all  the 
Edinburgh  Reviewers  could  shake  her  faith. 

The  Sorrows  of  Werther?  read  in  1789,  greatly  excited 
the  dwellers  in  the  quiet  parsonage.  '  I  execrate  the 
plan,1  writes  our  heroine, '  detest  the  example,  reprobate 
the  reasoning,  shudder  at  the  catastrophe,  and  am  most 
perniciously  charmed  with  that  vivid  colouring,  that 
1  Published  in  1774. 

262 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

fervid  glow  of  sentiment,  that  energy  of  thought,  and 
that  simple  unadorned  pathos  which,  without  a  pomp  of 
sounds,  penetrates  and  melts  the  very  soul.1  Mary  Woll- 
stonecraffs  Rights  of  Women1  shocked  the  Lagganites 
without  charming  them.  Mrs.  Grant  expresses  her  dis- 
belief in  the  desirability  of  creating  hotbeds  for  feminine 
genius,  and  candidly  admits  that '  innovation  disconcerts 
us  and  new  light  blinds  us ;  we  detest  the  Rights  of  Man 
and  abominate  those  of  Woman.1  Perhaps  her  disap- 
proval of  female  culture  was  partly  due  to  the  theory, 
which  she  attributes  variously  to  Swift  and  Bolingbroke, 
that  superior  powers  of  intellect  are  seldom  joined  to 
amiable  qualities  in  a  woman  without  a  balance  of  bad 
health  to  set  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  account. 

A  visit  to  Glasgow  in  1797,  the  first  probably  since 
she  had  left  it  in  1773,  surprised  Mrs.  Grant  by  the 
luxuries  she  beheld,  more  especially  those  of  the  intellect 
— lectures,  circulating  libraries,  and  the  like.  A  late 
Professor  had  founded  a  Chemistry  lecture  that  was 
expected  prodigiously  to  exalt  and  illuminate  the  citizens, 
both  male  and  female.  '  It  might  be  a  very  harmless 
lounge,1  comments  the  lady  from  the  mountains,  '  for  the 
female  auditory,  if  the  idea  of  being  greatly  the  wiser  for 
hearing  a  man  talk  an  hour  about  carbon  and  chemistry 
would  not  tend  to  conceit  and  affectation.  The  having 
an  additional  place  of  public  resort,  too,  encourages  that 
insatiable  love  of  change,  that  restlessness,  which  is,  I 
think,  the  great  and  growing  evil  of  the  age.  I  always 
thought  a  moderate  knowledge  of  geography  and  history 
a  very  desirable  acquisition  for  a  woman,  because  it 
qualifies  her  for  mingling  in  solid  and  rational  conversa- 
tion, and  makes  her  more  a  companion  for  her  husband 
1  Published  in  1792. 

263 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

or  brother.  The  more  pleasing  and  attainable  branches 
of  belles  lettres  lie  within  her  own  province — that  of  the 
imagination  and  the  heart.  What  business  women  have 
with  any  science  but  that  which  serves  to  improve  and 
adorn  conversation  I  cannot  comprehend.  For  my  part, 
I  cannot  conceive  a  woman  devoting  her  whole  time  and 
faculties  to  the  study  of  any  particular  art  or  science. 
.  .  .  That  knowledge  which  neither  improves  the  heart 
nor  meliorates  the  temper,  which  makes  us  neither  more 
useful  nor  more  pleasing,  I  cannot  consider  as  a  desirable 
acquisition.1 

This  is  a  little  vague,  since  only  experience  can  prove 
what  branches  of  knowledge  tend  to  improve  the  heart,  or 
'  meliorate'  the  temper.  Moreover,  for  a  lady  who  had  read 
Homer  in  her  youth,  and  scribbled  a  good  deal  of  poetry 
in  later  years,  she  was  perhaps  rather  hard  upon  such  of 
her  sisters  as  indulged  their  tastes  in  other  intellectual 
exercises.  But  then  she  prided  herself  on  never  publish- 
ing her  compositions,  which  were  lost  or  given  away  as 
soon  as  written.  Although  not  an  advocate  of  the  rights 
of  women,  Mrs.  Grant  had  no  very  exalted  opinion  of 
the  other  sex,  and  positively  despised  old  bachelors.  '  I 
love  to  hear  of  people  marrying,'  she  writes,  '  but  chiefly 
for  the  sake  of  the  men  concerned ;  for  old  maids  I  have 
known  both  happy  and  respectable,  but  old  bachelors 
hardly  ever.  I  have  no  patience  with  them,  and  would 
have  them  all  learn  to  knit.  .  .  .  Tavern  company  and 
bachelor  circles  make  men  gross,  callous,  and  awkward ; 
in  short,  disqualify  them  for  superior  female  society. 
The  more  heart  old  bachelors  of  this  kind  have,  the  more 
absurd  and  insignificant  they  grow  in  the  long-run ;  for 
when  infirmity  comes  on,  and  fame  and  business  lose 
their  attractions,  they  must  needs  have  somebody  to  love 
264 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

and  trust,  and  become  the  dupes  of  wretched  toad-eaters 
and  the  slaves  of  designing  housekeepers."* 

The  only  sorrows  of  the  twenty  years  spent  at  Laggan 
were  caused  by  the  deaths  of  four  out  of  the  twelve 
Grant  children,  one  of  whom,  a  promising  boy,  had 
lived  to  the  age  of  sixteen  when  he  fell  a  victim  to 
consumption.  In  1801  Mr.  Grant,  whose  health  had 
been  gradually  declining  for  some  time,  died  after  only 
a  few  days  of  actual  illness,  leaving  his  widow  with  eight 
children,  and  a  very  small  income.  For  a  couple  of 
years  the  Duke  of  Gordon  permitted  her  to  keep  on  the 
farm  at  Laggan  while  she  looked  about  her  and  made 
plans  for  the  future.  It  was  suggested  that  she  should 
publish  a  selection  of  the  verses  that  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  scribble  so  freely.  '  I  had  been  often 
urged,1  she  explains,  '  to  write  for  the  booksellers ;  but, 
in  the  first  place,  I  had  more  dread  of  censure  than 
hope  of  applause ;  and  besides,  I  could  not  find  leisure, 
devoted  as  I  was  to  a  tenderly  affectionate  husband, 
whose  delicacy  of  constitution  and  still  greater  delicacy 
of  mind  made  my  society  and  attendance  essential  to 
him.  It  is  gratifying  to  me  to  think  of  my  steadiness 
in  this  refusal.  .  .  .  Before  I  had  ever  heard  of  the 
project  for  my  advantage — indeed,  before  the  materials 
were  collected — proposals  were  dispersed  all  over  Scotland 
for  publishing  a  volume  of  my  poems.  To  these  pro- 
posals a  specimen  was  annexed  in  what  my  friends 
thought  my  best  manner.  .  .  .  Being  very  much  attached 
to  my  humble  neighbours,  I  had  at  one  time  written 
as  part  of  a  letter  a  page  or  two  of  poetical  regret  at 
the  hard  necessity  that  forced  so  many  to  emigrate. 
The  friend  who  had  preserved  this  effusion  sent  it  home, 
and  advised  me  to  enlarge  and  complete  the  sketch.  I 

265 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

did  so,  and  thus  was  finished  "The  Highlanders,"  the 
principal  poem  in  the  published  collection;  the  rest  I 
did  not  see  again  until  I  saw  them  in  print.1 

The  Duchess  of  Gordon,  who  had  a  house  at  Kinrara, 
near  Laggan,  and  who  posed  as  a  literary  patron,  in- 
terested herself  in  the  book,  and  finally  no  less  than 
three  thousand  subscribers  were  obtained.  The  unusual 
numbers  were  probably  in  great  measure  due  to  the 
clannish  feeling  of  the  Highlands.  The  name  of  the 
Grants  was  legion,  and  the  Gordons  no  doubt  followed 
the  lead  of  their  chief tainess.  Highland  poets  were 
plentiful  enough ;  but  Highland  poets  who  attained  the 
dignity  of  print,  or  even  of  manuscript,  were  rare,  and  it 
has  already  been  seen  what  a  substantial  harvest  *  Ossian"1 
Macpherson  had  reaped.  The  subject  of  Mrs.  Grant's 
principal  poem  appealed  to  southerners  by  reason  of  its 
freshness  and  novelty,  while  the  prosaic  trot  of  her 
rhymed  couplets  fell  pleasantly  enough  upon  the  ear  of 
that  period.  For  modern  readers,  however,  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  the  charm  has  irrevocably  fled.  The  opening 
lines  will  give  a  sufficient  idea  of  the  method  in  which 
she  has  treated  her  picturesque  theme  : — 

f  Come,  then,  explore  with  me  each  winding  glen, 
Far  from  the  noisy  haunts  of  busy  men  ; 
Let  us  with  steadfast  eye  attentive  trace 
The  local  habits  of  the  Celtic  race.' 

Mrs.  Grant  prided  herself  upon  having  '  let  herself 
alone,1  and  studied  neither  '  the  quaint  simplicity  of  the 
new  school  (i.e.  the  Lake  Poets),  nor  the  uniform  laboured 
splendour  of  Darwin  and  his  imitators.1*  Among  her 
most  admired  productions  were  the  Gaelic  songs  which 
she  learned  from  the  lips  of  the  mountain  bards,  and 
translated  into,  it  must  be  owned,  commonplace  English 
266 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

verse.  However,  her  book  served  its  purpose,  bringing 
substantial  help  to  the  little  household,  and  giving 
pleasure  to  a  large  number  of  the  less  critical  readers 
of  the  dav. 


PART  III.   WIDOWHOOD 

ALTHOUGH  Mrs.  Grant  found  helping  hands  stretched 
out  in  her  time  of  need,  trouble  of  one  kind  or  another 
was  seldom  far  from  her  door.  Shortly  after  Mr.  Grant's 
death,  a  Mrs.  Protheroe,  the  wife  of  the  member  for 
Bristol,  having  heard  excellent  accounts  of  the  conduct 
and  manners  of  Mary  Grant,  the  eldest  daughter,  invited 
the  girl  to  come  and  live  with  her  as  a  friend,  and  offered 
to  make  her  a  suitable  allowance.  The  offer  was  accepted  ; 
but  soon  after  Mary^s  arrival  at  Bristol,  news  was  received 
of  her  dangerous  illness,  and  her  mother  was  summoned 
to  her  side.  Leaving  the  household  at  Laggan  in  the 
care  of  her  second  daughter  Isabella,  then  just  eighteen, 
Mrs.  Grant  set  out  in  mid-winter  on  her  long  and  fatigu- 
ing journey  to  the  south.  She  was  hardly  in  a  frame  of 
mind  to  appreciate  the  scenes  through  which  she  passed  ; 
and  in  a  letter  to  a  friend  she  expresses  her  disappoint- 
ment with  the  aspect  of  Cumberland  and  Lancashire, 
which  she  considers  flat,  bleak,  and  unvaried,  having 
neither  the  romantic  variety  of  Scotland  nor  the  rich 
culture  which  she  expected  in  England.  The  farmhouses 
struck  her  as  gross  and  unrural,  with  ugly  tiled  roofs, 
and  gardens  formal  and  suburban-like.  The  windmills 
and  sluggish  clay-coloured  streams  made  her  recollect 
with  painful  pleasure  the  pure  streams  that  poured  like 
melted  crystal  from  her  Alpine  hills. 

On  arriving  at  Bristol,  Mrs.  Grant  was  informed  that 

267 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

her  daughter's  only  chance  of  life  was  to  drink  the  waters 
of  the  hot  wells  of  Clifton.  Here,  therefore,  they  estab- 
lished themselves  for  a  couple  of  months,  at  the  end  of 
which  time,  the  invalid's  health  being  restored,  they 
returned  to  Scotland,  paying  a  visit  to  an  old  friend  in 
Devonshire  on  the  way. 

Mrs.  Grant  describes  the  rapturous  feelings  with  which 
she  rode  across  the  wild  moorland  that  lay  between  more 
civilised  regions  and  her  beloved  Laggan,  where  her 
children  and  devoted  servants  eagerly  awaited  her ;  but 
her  days  there  were  numbered.  In  June,  1803,  the  farm 
was  given  up,  and  the  whole  family  removed  to  a  house 
near  Stirling,  where  they  were  joined  by  the  now  widowed 
Mrs.  Macvicar.  Here  Mrs.  Grant  found  one  or  two  good 
friends ;  and  having  a  few  acres  of  ground  and  some  cows, 
she  managed  to  create  many  little  rural  occupations  for 
herself.  4  The  love  of  farming,'  she  observes,  '  is  first 
cousin  to  the  love  of  nature  ;  no  person  that  has  ever 
tasted  the  sweets  of  weeding  turnips  and  pulling  lint, 
not  to  mention  the  transports  of  marking  the  first  bloom 
nodding  on  potatoes,  can  give  up  these  pursuits  without  a 
pang  like  that  of  a  defeated  general  or  a  neglected  beauty.' 

In  her  Lowland  home  she  sadly  missed  the  fellowship 
of  the  gentle  and  courteous  peasants  of  Laggan.  '  Here 
I  am  grieved  with  the  altered  manners  of  a  gross  and 
sordid  peasantry,'  she  writes  on  one  occasion,  '  who  retain 
only  the  form  they  have  inherited  from  a  pious  ancestry, 
while  the  spirit  is  quite  evaporated ;  who  regard  their 
superiors  with  envious  ill-will,  and  their  equals  with  cold 
selfishness ;  who  neither  look  back  to  their  ancestors,  nor 
forward  to  their  successors,  but  live  and  labour  merely  for 
the  individual.'  Among  the  neighbours  of  the  upper 
classes  there  were  not  many  who  were  actually  congenial 
268 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

to  the  lady  of  Laggan,  who,  however,  adapted  herself 
with  cheerful  good  sense  to  her  environment,  observing : 
'  I  carefully  banish  from  my  mind  the  absurd  and  silly 
fastidiousness  of  working  myself  up  to  relish  no  conversa- 
tion but  that  of  wits  and  savants ;  it  would  be  a  regime 
of  pickles  and  marmalade  without  bread  and  water. 
Common  sense  and  common  integrity,  with  some  degree 
of  heart,  I  insist  on  in  my  companions.  Knaves  and  fools 
I  will  positively  have  nothing  to  do  with.  Some  one 
mind  that  thinks  and  feels  as  I  do  myself  is  indispensable. 
""Pis  like  my  morning  tea,  the  only  luxury  I  care  for, 
which  habit  has  made  necessary.1 

The  clouds  soon  began  to  gather  again  on  the  horizon 
of  the  little  household.  The  eldest  son,  Duncan,  was 
about  this  time  at  Marlow,  preparing  for  the  army.  A 
disturbance  arose  among  the  students,  in  which  he  was 
concerned  as  the  depository  of  their  secret,  a  circumstance 
that  involved  his  mother  in  much  anxiety  and  expense. 
Through  the  influence  of  a  kinsman,  Sir  Charles  Grant, 
of  the  India  Office,  the  affair  was  hushed  up,  and  Duncan 
received  a  commission  in  the  service  of  the  East  India 
Company.  The  necessary  equipment  cost  a  considerable 
sum,  and  in  this  emergency  her  friends  urged  Mrs.  Grant 
to  publish  a  selection  of  her  letters,  a  course  from  which 
she  was,  for  many  reasons,  much  averse.  She  considered 
it  'indelicate1  to  publish  letters  in  the  lifetime  of  the 
author  ;  and  she  saw  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  exclude 
the  most  amusing  and  interesting  passages,  as  well  as 
much  harmless  badinage  and  veritable  narrative.  How- 
ever, there  seemed  to  be  no  other  method  of  raising 
money,  and  in  January,  1805,  she  went  to  London  by  sea, 
a  twelve  days'  voyage,  in  order  to  arrange  her  son's  affairs 
and  interview  publishers. 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

Armed  with  an  introduction,  Mrs.  Grant  went  to 
Messrs.  Longman  and  Rees,  feeling  as  much  ashamed  of 
her  defective  and  ill-arranged  manuscript  as  ever  Falstatt 
was  of  his  ragged  recruits.  In  a  few  days,  more  fortunate 
than  the  ordinary  literary  aspirant,  she  was  informed  that 
her  manuscript  was  considered  suitable  for  publication, 
and  would  appear  in  three  or  four  months'  time.  The 
author  was  to  receive  half  the  profits,  the  booksellers 
bearing  the  risk  of  printing.  A  stay  of  six  weeks  with  a 
friend  at  Richmond  enabled  Mrs.  Grant  to  complete  her 
business,  and  also  to  see  something  of  the  amusements  of 
town.  She  was  taken  to  a  performance  of  the  infant 
Roscius,  where  she  marvelled  at  the  folly  of  spoiling  so 
fine  a  child  by  anticipating  his  capabilities  and  ruining 
his  constitution.  She  also  paid  a  visit  to  the  Opera,  but 
she  confesses  that  the  music  was  Greek  to  her,  and  that 
she  fell  asleep  in  the  middle  of  the  evening.  More  to  her 
taste  was  an  introduction  to  a  little  literary  society,  a 
dinner  with  Mrs.  '  Epictetus '  Carter,  and  a  chat  with 
Joanna  Baillie. 

Nothing  more  was  heard  of  the  Letters  from  the  Moun- 
tains during  the  remainder  of  that  year,  which  passed 
quietly  at  Stirling.  Books  were  more  easily  obtainable 
now,  and  Mrs.  Grant  records  the  pleasure  she  received 
from  Campbell's  Poems  and  Hay  ley's  Life  ofCowper. 

'  I  wish  you  would  tell  me,'  she  writes  to  an  old  friend, 
'  whether  you  admire  Campbell's  "  words  that  glow  and 
thoughts  that  burn  "  as  much  as  I  do ;  and  whether  you 
are  tempted  to  have  a  little  Teraphim  image  of  Cowper 
in  your  chamber  for  your  private  devotions ;  and  whether 
you  are  very  proud  that  so  many  women  distinguished 
for  intellect  and  elegance,  as  well  as  virtue  and  piety, 
gave  up  the  pleasures  of  this  vain  world  for  a  time  to 
270 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

extract  the  thorns  from  his  heart,  and  pour  in  the  wine 
and  oil  of  consolation.  I  am  always  glad  when  I  can 
warrantably  boast  of  my  own  sex.  We  are  better  than 
men  upon  the  whole.  Indeed,  the  few  amiable  men  I 
have  known  had  many  femalities  in  their  tastes  and 
opinions,  but  then  I  must  allow  the  most  respectable 
women  have  some  masculine  traits  too.  Nature  does 
nothing  wrong.  It  is  women  who  affect  and  assume 
the  masculine  character  that  are  insufferable.1  'Are 
you  not  charmed  with  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  ? ' 
she  asks  in  another  letter,  dated  November  1805 ;  and 
after  bidding  her  friend  read  the  poem  on  her  knees, 
continues :  '  Woe  be  to  you  if  you  ever  apostatise  from 
your  love  and  duty  to  the  land  of  cakes,  which  is  indeed 
the  land  of  social  life  and  social  love,  and  lies  in  a  happy 
medium  between  the  dissipated  gaiety  and  improvident 
thoughtlessness  of  the  Irish,  and  the  cold  and  close 
attention  to  petty  comforts  and  conveniences  that  absorbs 
the  English  mind.'' 

In  the  spring  of  1806  Mrs.  Grant  received  a  sudden 
request  that  she  would  write  a  preface  for  her  Letters 
from  the  Mountains,  which  she  had  begun  to  despair  of 
seeing  published.  The  preface  was  dashed  off,  and  in 
the  course  of  the  summer  she  was  astonished  to  hear 
a  casual  remark  that  a  book  of  that  name  divided  with 
one  or  two  other  new  works  the  attention  of  readers  in 
town.  In  October  of  the  same  year  she  mentions  the 
warm  interest  that  the  book  has  excited  even  in  strangers, 
and  the  considerable  pecuniary  benefit  that  she  has  already 
reaped.  Longman  and  Rees  sent  her  their  account,  in 
which  they  allowed  her  a  handsome  sum  in  addition  to 
her  half-profits ;  while  three  merchants  of  London  sent 
her  a  bill  for  three  hundred  pounds  as  a  tribute  of 

271 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

their  sincere  admiration.  Her  daughter  Charlotte,  who 
was  staying  with  friends  in  town,  received  many  visits 
from  fashionable  ladies  who  were  anxious  to  know  all 
particulars  about  the  author,  even  to  her  height  and 
complexion ! 

Chief  among  the  admirers  of  the  Letters  were  Dr. 
Porteous,  Bishop  of  London ;  Sir  James  Grant,  Master 
of  the  Rolls ;  and  Mr.  Hatsell,  Clerk  of  the  House  of 
Commons.  A  second  edition  of  the  work  being  called  for, 
Dr.  Porteous  offered  to  edit  it  himself,  compressing  the 
Letters  into  two  volumes,  and  marking  those  which  were 
to  be  omitted.  The  Bishop,  as  might  perhaps  have  been 
expected,  expelled  many  of  the  chitchat  letters,  whereat 
Mrs.  Grant  declared  that  she  was  in  nowise  mortified, 
although  she  still  thought  (and  a  modern  generation  will 
certainly  agree  with  her)  that  characteristic  traits  of 
Highland  life  and  manners  might  be  obvious  in  domestic 
insignificant  letters,  which,  '  like  straws  in  a  thatched 
roof,  are  nothing  singly,  yet  in  a  connected  form  give  the 
appearance  of  warmth  and  comfort.' 

Mrs.  Grant  was  now  a  recognised  celebrity,  though 
the  reviews  had  paid  scant  attention  to  her  work,  the 
Edinburgh  ignoring  it,  and  the  Critical  treating  it  with 
scorn.  She  explains  the  neglect  of  the  Edinburgh  by 
the  fact  that  the  literati  of  the  time  were  divided  into 
two  camps — philosophers  and  enthusiasts ;  Jeffrey  and  his 
reviewers  belonging  to  the  first,  Walter  Scott  and  herself 
to  the  second.  The  reviews  in  general  treated  feminine 
productions  with  unqualified  scorn,  never  mentioning 
anything  of  the  kind  but  with  a  sneer.  Of  late  they  had 
clubbed  together  their  whole  stock  of  talent  to  attack 
the  Highlanders  in  general,  and  Fingal  in  particular. 
'  Judge,  then,'  she  continues,  '  what  favour  I,  an  illiterate 
272 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

female,  loyalist  and  Highlander,  am  to  find  at  the  hands  of 
such  a  tribunal.  .  .  .  Walter  Scott,  the  charming  minstrel 
of  the  Border,  is  lately  enlisted  in  the  critical  corps ;  such 
a  loyalist  as  he  appears  like  Abdiel  among  fallen  angels."* 

The  Letters  more  than  held  their  own  in  spite  of  the 
reviewers,  and  the  second  edition  brought  the  author  the 
welcome  sum  of  three  hundred  pounds.  Mrs.  Hook,  wife 
of  the  Dean  of  Worcester,  and  sister-in-law  of  Theodore 
Hook,  though  unknown  to  Mrs.  Grant,  wrote  to  offer 
herself  as  a  friend  and  correspondent.  A  kinswoman, 
Mrs.  Peter  Grant,  whose  husband  was  minister  of  Duthill 
and  Rothiemurchus,  at  once  turned  blue-stocking,  and 
thenceforward  had  but  one  aim  in  life — to  rival  the  fame 
of  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan.  Mrs.  Peter  wrote  two  volumes 
full  of  heather  and  sunsets,  grey  clouds  and  mists,  which 
had  no  success,  although  the  clan  loyally  bought  up  half 
the  edition.  The  original  Mrs.  Grant's  head  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  turned  by  all  this  adulation.  She 
was  aware  that  her  success  was  partly  to  be  attributed 
to  the  novelty  of  her  subject,  and  partly  to  the  taste  for 
nature  and  simplicity  which  had  been  revived  by  Rousseau 
in  the  preceding  century,  and  was  now  being  fostered  by 
the  Lake  poets.  But  indeed  the  fortunate  author  had 
enough  to  keep  her  sober.  Her  children  all  seem  to  have 
inherited  their  father's  delicacy  of  constitution,  and  in 
1807  her  daughters  Charlotte  and  Catherine  both  fell  ill, 
probably  with  some  form  of  consumption,  the  first  dying 
in  April,  the  second  in  August  of  the  same  year.  So 
that  the  period  of  literary  triumph  was  in  reality  a  period 
of  the  deepest  domestic  woe. 

It  was  probably  to  distract  her  mind  from  her  private 
sorrows  that  Mrs.  Grant  began  her  sketch  of  Madame 
Schuyler,  and  of  life  in  Albany  before  the  Revolution, 
s  273 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

which  she  called  The  Memoirs  of  an  American  Lady. 
In  January  1808  she  went  to  town,  probably  to  arrange 
about  its  publication  with  Longman,  whom  she  described 
as  the  prince  of  booksellers,  the  delicacy  and  liberality 
with  which  he  had  treated  her  being  such  as  to  do  honour 
to  all  Paternoster  Row.  On  this  occasion  she  stayed  at 
Windsor  with  a  Grant  cousin,  who  was  a  friend  of  Mrs. 
Carter  and  Lady  Hesketh,  and  also  with  Sir  Charles  and 
Lady  Legard  at  Sunbury.  A  fellow-guest  at  the  latter 
house  was  Catherine  Fanshawe.  amateur  artist  and  poet, 
now  best  known  by  her  charade  on  the  letter  '  H,'  begin- 
ning, '  'Twas  whispered  in  heaven,  'twas  muttered  in 
hell,1"  at  one  time  attributed  to  Byron.  Of  this  lady  Mrs. 
Grant  writes  to  one  of  her  daughters  : — 

*  I  have  known  very  few  persons  possessed  of  talents  so 
great  and  various.  While  here  she  received  a  letter  from 
Hayley  to  announce  the  marriage  of  "Johnny  of  Norfolk  " 
[Cowper's  young  cousin  and  protector]  with  a  lady  young, 
lovely,  and  truly  amiable ;  she  is  an  orphan  of  independent 
fortune,  well  educated  in  the  country,  where  she  lived 
with  her  relations.  She  is  elegant,  musical,  and  pious, 
and  has  studied  Cowper  with  ever  more  delight.  Charmed 
with  the  playful  innocence  and  disinterested  kindness  that 
appear  in  Cowper's  sketches  of  Johnny's  character,  she 
sighed,  and  wished  that  "  Heaven  had  made  her  such  a 
man."  Her  relations,  notwithstanding  Johnny's  confined 
circumstances  and  unprepossessing  appearance — for  he 
is  little  and  diffident  in  manner — told  his  people  that 
Johnny  might  try.  He  did,  and  succeeded;  for  when 
you  know  him  he  is  charming,  innocent,  sweet-tempered, 
and  a  delightful  letter- writer.' 

The  American  Lady  sold  well,  going  through  several 
editions,  though  perhaps  in  England  it  did  not  enjoy  the 
274 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

same  vogue  as  the  Letters  from  the  Mountains.  About 
this  time  Mrs.  Grant,  having  been  asked  by  Lady  Glasgow 
and  one  or  two  other  ladies  to  take  charge  of  their  young 
daughters,  contemplated  removing  to  London,  and  there 
setting  up  a  very  '  select '  establishment  for  young  ladies. 
But  her  girls  were  so  averse  from  leaving  their  native 
land,  that  it  was  decided  the  move  should  be  no  further 
than  to  Edinburgh.  In  the  spring  of  1809  Mrs.  Grant 
paid  a  visit  to  the  Scottish  capital,  probably  to  look  for 
a  house,  and  here  she  received  a  welcome  befitting  a  dis- 
tinguished literary  character.  The  Duchess  of  Gordon 
happened  to  be  in  Edinburgh,  and  invited  the  Highland 
author  to  her  house,  her  Grace's  ruling  passion  at  that 
time  being  literature,  and  her  chief  desire  to  be  an 
arbitress  of  literary  taste  and  the  patron  of  genius  ;  a 
distinction  for  which  her  want  of  early  culture  and  the 
flutter  of  a  life  devoted  to  very  different  pursuits  had 
rather  disqualified  her.  In  a  letter  to  Catherine  Fan- 
shawe,  Mrs.  Grant  says : — 

'I  called  on  the  Duchess  of  Gordon,  and  was  much 
gratified  to  see  Sir  Brooke  Boothby,1  though  he  looked 
so  feeble  and  so  dismal  that  one  would  have  thought  him 
just  come  from  writing  those  sorrows  sacred  to  Penelope. 
The  Duchess  said  that  on  Sunday  she  never  saw  company, 
nor  played  cards,  nor  went  out ;  in  England  indeed  she 
did  so,  because  every  one  else  did  the  same,  but  she  would 
not  introduce  those  manners  into  this  country.  I  stared 
at  these  gradations  of  piety,  growing  warmer  as  it  came 
northwards,  but  was  wise  enough  to  stare  silently.  She 
said  I  must  come  that  evening,  as  she  would  be  alone.  I 
found  Walter  Scott,  whom  I  had  never  met  before,  Lady 
Keith — Johnson's  Queenie — and  an  English  lady,  witty 
1  A  poetaster  of  the  Lichfield  set. 

275 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

and  fashionable-looking,  who  came  and  went  with  Mr. 
Scott.  I  think  Mr.  Scott's  appearance  very  unpromis- 
ing and  commonplace ;  yet  though  no  gleam  of  genius 
animates  his  countenance,  much  of  it  appears  in  his  con- 
versation, which  is  rich,  varied,  easy,  and  animated,  with- 
out any  of  the  petulance  with  which  the  "  Faculty  "  are 
not  unjustly  reproached." 

In  an  unpublished  letter  to  a  friend,  Mrs.  Baker,  dated 
December  14,  1809,  Mrs.  Grant  explains  her  motives  for 
the  move  to  Edinburgh,  and  also  gives  some  details  about 
the  family  circumstances.  '  I  have  now  to  thank  you  [she 
writes]  for  a  very  kind  letter  delivered  by  your  frequent 
and  grateful  guest,  Mary,  and  to  congratulate  you  on 
Miss  Charlotte's  having  borne  her  journey  to  London  so 
well,  of  which  I  was  informed  by  our  mutual  friend  Mrs. 
Hook.  I  was  very  much  gratified  by  receiving  from 
Mary  the  most  agreeable  accounts  of  your  future  pro- 
spects in  regard  to  the  son  and  daughter  for  whom  you 
have  prepared  a  retreat  so  simply  elegant  and  every  way 
comfortable.  I  hope  the  years  to  come  will  in  some 
measure  recompense  you  for  the  sad  privations  and 
anxieties  by  which  the  latter  period  has  been  clouded. 
I  was  quite  mortified  to  hear  Mr.  Robert  had  been  so 
near  us  without  seeing  us,  and  particularly  without  seeing 
Stirling.  This  ancient  city  is  not  only  interesting  as  the 
scene  of  many  singular  events,  and  as  containing  within 
itself  several  curious  antiquities,  but  as  distinguished  for 
its  lofty  and  romantic  situation,  and  for  the  extensive 
and  varied  views  of  high  cultivation  and  wild  sublimity 
that  it  commands.  But  of  this  you  would  hear  enough 
from  Mary,  who  is  quite  alive  to  all  the  beauties  and 
advantages  of  the  situation. 

'  Indeed,  that  is  much  the  same  case  with  the  whole 
276 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

family;  and  they  are  so  attached  to  the  spot,  and  so 
sensible  of  the  kindness  of  the  neighbours,  that  they 
seem  to  consider  the  approaching  removal  to  Edinburgh 
as  a  great  misfortune.  It  is  very  singular  to  find 
creatures  so  young  as  they  are  so  little  dazzled  with 
the  thoughts  of  living  in  a  gay  capital  where  they  have 
many  friends  and  relations.  I  am  not  sorry  for  it,  how- 
ever, for  I  think  strong  local  attachments  and  a  love  of 
rural  scenery  are  proofs  of  that  simplicity  of  taste  and 
goodness  of  heart  which  in  young  people  are  most  desir- 
able. I  should  not  leave  the  kind,  affectionate  neigh- 
bours who  seem  so  concerned  at  my  departure  if  my 
stay  here  were  compatible  with  my  views  and  pursuits. 
But  the  Countess  of  Glasgow's  children,  and  one  or  two 
more  whom  I  may  possibly  receive,  require  French  and 
Italian  teachers,  besides  those  for  music,  better  than  they 
can  find  here.  This  is  a  great  advantage  which  I  derive 
from  going  to  Edinburgh.  I  never  professed  to  derive 
support  for  my  family  from  the  emoluments  of  the  few 
young  people  I  proposed  to  keep.  But  along  with  what 
I  already  possess,  I  expected  by  that  means  to  have 
a  little  more  room.  I  shall  have  in  Edinburgh  the 
advantage  of  attaining  my  purpose  with  a  smaller 
number  from  the  greater  cheapness  of  everything 
there.  .  .  . 

'  I  have  now,  Madam,  a  piece  of  information  to  com- 
municate which  I  know  gives  you  satisfaction,  tho'  it 
relates  to  one  whom  you  never  did,  and  probably  never 
will,  see.  An  expedition  has  been  sent  out  from  Bombay 
(a  small  one,  as  you  may  suppose)  to  take  possession  of 
the  Isle  Rodriguez,  a  small  island  belonging  to  Portugal, 
which,  lying  near  the  Mauritius,  is  considered  as  a  proper 
shelter  for  our  trade,  or  something  of  that  nature.  My 

277 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

son,  it  seems,  has  been  appointed  commissary  and  pay- 
master to  this  expedition.  So  serious  a  trust  should,  I 
think,  scarcely  have  been  reposed  on  a  youth  of  twenty, 
unless  his  conduct  and  his  application  to  his  military 
duties  gave  them  to  suppose  he  was  in  some  degree 
qualified  for  it.  I  perfectly  remember,  being  near  the 
same  age  with  the  late  lamented  Sir  John  Moore,  that 
he  was  when  but  eighteen  years  .old  appointed  paymaster 
to  the  Duke  of  Hamilton's,  and  that  he  discharged  the 
difficult  duties  of  that  office  to  the  general  satisfaction. 
But  this  was  a  rare  instance.  When  I  was  in  Edinburgh, 
where  I  went  to  meet  Mary  and  regulate  my  future  plans, 
I  found  so  many  people  there  in  grief  and  consternation 
about  the  missing  ships  in  India  that  one  would  imagine 
the  whole  town  had  a  concern  in  them.  This  and  many 
other  [things]  prevents  my  being  thrown  off  my  balance 
by  this  gleam  of  prosperity.  Of  those  who  return  with 
wealth  from  that  pernicious  climate,  we  all  hear  ;  but  of 
thousands  who  sink  beneath  its  influence,  none  retain 
any  long  recollection  but  those  who  weep  in  secret  their 
peculiar  loss.  .  .  .^ 

A  house  was  taken  at  Edinburgh  in  Heriot  Row, 
where  Henry  Mackenzie,  the  author  of  The  Man  of  Feeling 
and  many  other  novels,  was  a  near  neighbour.  Scott  and 
Jeffrey -were  among  the  earliest  callers  upon  the  Grants, 
who  established  themselves  in  their  new  home  in  March 
1810.  'You  would  think,1  observes 'Mrs.  Grant,  in  de- 
scribing her  two  distinguished  visitors,  '  that  the  body 
of  each  was  formed  to  lodge  the  soul  of  the  other. 
Jeffrey  looks  the  poet  all  over ;  the  ardent  eye,  the 
nervous  agitation,  the  visibly  quick  perceptions  keep  one^s 
attention  awake  in  expectation  of  flashes  of  genius ;  nor 
is  that  expectation  disappointed,  for  his  conversation  is 
278 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

in  a  high  degree  fluent  and  animated.  Walter  Scott 
has  not  a  gleam  of  poetic  fire  in  his  countenance,  which 
merely  suggests  the  idea  of  plain  good  sense ;  his  con- 
ceptions do  not  strike  you  as  so  rapid  or  brilliant  as 
those  of  his  critic ;  yet  there  is  much  amusement  and 
variety  in  his  good-humoured,  easy,  and  unaffected 
conversation.1 

The  Grants  were  made  much  of  in  the  Scottish  capital, 
the  mother's  championship  of  her  countrymen,  her 
resolute  and  cheerful  endurance  of  the  many  blows  that 
Fate  had  dealt,  to  say  nothing  of  her  unusual  con- 
versational powers,  ensuring  her  the  admiration  and 
sympathy  of  her  new  friends.  Her  later  correspondence 
forms  a  record  of  literary  life  and  society  in  Edinburgh 
between  the  years  1810  and  1838  ;  for  not  only  was  she 
well  acquainted  with  all  the  principal  writers  in  the  town, 
but  few  distinguished  strangers,  whether  English  or 
American,  passed  through  the  capital  without  paying 
their  respects  to  '  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan.1 
She  kept  up,  after  her  wont,  with  the  new  publications 
of  the  day,  though  she  wrote  little  else  except  an  essay 
on  the  Superstitions  of  the  Highlands  (1811)  and  some 
unimportant  verses.  We  are  enabled  to  follow  the 
course  of  her  reading  through  the  pages  of  her  corre- 
spondence with  her  English  friends,  more  especially  with 
Mrs.  Hook  and  Miss  Fanshawe.  Now  she  writes  in  en- 
thusiastic terms  of  her  delight  in  Gray's  Letters,  then  of 
her  more  chastened  pleasure  in  the  correspondence  of  Mrs. 
Carter  and  Miss  Seward.  The  publication  of  Rokeby  is 
a  source  of  patriotic  triumph  ;  for  she  points  out  how 
much  richer  the  notes  of  Scott's  former  poems  are  in 
allusions,  traditions,  and  quotations  from  local  poetry. 
'  But  where  is  the  local  poetry  of  England  ?  Granville 

279 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

and  Pope  in  very  recent  years  have  celebrated  Windsor 
and  the  Thames,  and  our  own  countryman  Thomson  hung 
a  wreath  on  Richmond  Hill.  But  what  other  place 
in  England  can  be  mentioned  that  wakes  one  poetical 
recollection  ? ' 

Henry  Mackenzie  soon  became  an  intimate  friend  of 
the  family,  though  Mrs.  Grant  regrets  his  total  lack  of 
humour.  She  confesses  that  she  is  unable  to  refrain  from 
liking  '  the  arch-critic '  (Jeffrey),  in  spite  of  his  manifold 
literary  offences.  Jeffrey,  indeed,  though  he  was  in- 
hospitable in  his  Review,  made  some  amends  by  under- 
taking a  tour  to  Glenroy  and  Loch  Laggan,  and  coming 
back  absolutely  enchanted  with  his  experiences.  Another 
new  friend,  made  some  years  later,  was  Professor  Wilson, 
better  known  as  'Christopher  North.1  'Did  I  "ever  tell 
you,'  writes  Mrs.  Grant,  a  propos  of  an  allusion  to  the 
Lake  poets,  '  of  one  of  the  said  poets  we  have  in  our 
town  here — indeed,  one  of  our  intimates — the  most  pro- 
voking creature  imaginable?  He  is  young,  handsome, 
wealthy,  witty,  has  great  learning,  excellent  spirits,  a 
wife  and  children  that  he  dotes  on,  and  no  vice  that  I 
know  of,  but  virtuous  principles  and  feelings.  Yet  his 
wonderful  eccentricity  would  send  any  one  but  his  wife 
mad.1  This  eccentric  poet  was,  of  course,  Christopher,  then 
distinguished  as  the  author  of  The  Isle  of  Palms.  One 
of  the  most  striking  proofs  of  his  unconventionality,  in 
Mrs.  Grant's  eyes,  was  his  undertaking  a  walking  tour 
with  his  wife  through  the  remoter  Highlands.  '  I  shall 
be  charmed  to  see  them  come  back  alive,'  she  observes. 
'  Meantime,  it  has  cost  me  not  a  little  pains  to  explain 
to  my  less  romantic  friends  in  their  track  that  they  are 
genuine  gentlefolks  in  masquerade.'  Happily  the  ad- 
venturous poet  and  his  mate  returned  'in  the  highest 
280 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

health  and  spirits,  having  walked  several  hundred  miles 
in  the  Highlands,  seen  much  beauty,  received  much 
courtesy,  and  slept  in  the  humblest  cottages,  always 
getting  clean  beds;  in  short,  never  did  anything  turn 
out  so  well  that  was  looked  upon  as  so  ridiculous  at  the 
outset.' 

From  the  first  appearance  of  Scott  as  a  poet  he 
remained  Mrs.  Grant's  literary  hero-in-chief.  Even  his 
less  successful  works  she  preferred  to  the  masterpieces  of 
other  writers,  on  the  ground  that  *  the  king's  chaff  is 
better  than  other  folks1  corn.'  At  the  time  when  the 
extraordinary  popularity  of  Marmlon  had,  as  Scott 
confessed,  almost  thrown  him  off  his  balance,  '  a  shrewd 
and  sly  observer,  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan,'  to  quote 
Lockhart's  Life,  '  said  wittily  enough  on  leaving  an 
assembly  where  the  poet  had  been  surrounded  by  all  the 
glare  and  buzz  of  fashionable  ecstasy,  "  Mr.  Scott  always 
seems  to  me  like  a  glass  through  which  the  rays  of 
admiration  pass  without  sensibly  affecting  it ;  but  the  bit 
of  paper  that  lies  beside  it  will  presently  be  in  a  blaze, 
and  no  wonder."'  By  the  'bit  of  paper1  Mrs.  Scott 
was  meant,  who  was  far  more  elated  at  her  husband's 
popularity,  and  far  more  cast  down  by  critical  attacks 
upon  him,  than  he  was  himself.  Mrs.  Grant  was  per- 
suaded of  the  identity  of  the  author  of  Wavcrley  from 
the  first  appearance  of  that  novel.  '  I  am  satisfied,'  she 
writes,  '  that  Walter  Scott,  and  no  other,  is  the  author 
of  that  true  and  chaste  delineation  of  Scottish  manners. 
He  is  not,  however,  just  to  the  Highlanders;  and  the 
specimens  of  Highland  manners  that  he  gives  are  not 
fair  ones.' 

Mrs.  Grant  herself  was  one  of  the  numerous  writers 
who  were  held  responsible  for  the  authorship  of  the 

281 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

Waverley  novels.  In  disclaiming  any  share  in  their 
production  to  an  American  admirer,  she  spoke  of  the 
real  author  in  terms  of  such  perfect  assurance  that  her 
correspondent  believed  Scott  must  have  confided  his 
secret  to  her.  This  having  been  mentioned  to  Scott  by 
Miss  Edgeworth  in  1824,  he  replies  with  some  asperity  : 
'  As  for  honest  Mrs.  Grant,  I  cannot  conceive  why  the 
deuce  I  should  have  selected  her  for  a  mother-confessor ; 
if  it  had  been  yourself  or  Joanna,  there  might  have  been 
some  probability  in  the  report ;  but  good  Mrs.  Grant  is 
so  very  cerulean,  and  surrounded  by  so  many  fetch-and- 
carry  mistresses  and  misses,  and  the  maintainer  of  such 
an  unmerciful  correspondence,  that  though  I  would  do 
her  any  kindness  in  my  power,  yet  I  should  be  afraid  to 
be  very  intimate  with  a  woman  whose  tongue  and  pen 
are  rather  overpowering.  She  is  an  excellent  person 
notwithstanding.1 

In  1814  death  was  again  busy  in  Mrs.  Grant's  family. 
Her  daughter  Anne  died  in  August,  and  in  the  same 
month — though  of  course  the  news  did  not  reach  Edin- 
burgh till  much  later — her  elder  son,  Duncan,  died  in 
Surat.  Duncan  had  already  distinguished  himself  in  his 
profession,  and  a  brilliant  career  seemed  to  lie  open  before 
him.  When  it  had  been  arranged  that  Mrs.  Grant 
should  receive  three  jr  four  young  ladies  into  her  family, 
with  a  view  to  making  some  provision  for  her  daughters, 
Duncan  had  written  to  his  mother  to  remonstrate  with 
her  for  rendering  his  sisters  independent  of  him.  Her 
answer  deserves  to  be  quoted,  if  only  to  show  how  much 
wider  and  more  tolerant  were  her  views  than  those  of  the 
average  'good  woman1  of  the  period,  who  was  apt  to. 
regard  her  less  fortunate  sisters  as  quite  beyond  the 
pale  of  humanity. 
282 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

'  I  must  now  tell  you,1  runs  this  remarkable  letter,  *  of 
a  very  strong  motive  that  I  have  for  keeping  your  sisters 
independent  of  you.  I  regard  with  very  great  compassion 
most  men  who  are  obliged  to  pass  their  lives  in  India. 
Far  from  home,  and  burdened  perhaps  with  relations  that 
keep  them  back,  they  seek  a  resource  in  forming  temporary 
connections  with  the  natives.  These,  I  am  told,  are  often 
innocent  and  amiable  creatures,  who  are  not  aware  of 
doing  anything  reprehensible  in  thus  attaching  themselves. 
The  poor  woman  who  has  devoted  herself  to  her  protector 
secures  his  affection  by  being  the  mother  of  his  children. 
Time  runs  on ;  the  unfortunate  mother,  whom  he  must 
.tear  from  his  heart  and  throw  back  into  misery  and 
oblivion,  is  daily  forming  new  ties  to  him.  The  children, 
born  heirs  to  shame  and  sorrow,  are  for  a  time  fondly 
cherished,  till  the  wish  of  their  father's  heart  is  fulfilled, 
and  he  is  able  to  return  to  his  native  country,  and  to 
make  the  appearance  in  it  to  which  his  ambition  has  long 
been  directed.  Then  begin  his  secret  but  deep  vexations ; 
and  the  more  honourable  his  mind,  the  more  affectionate 
his  heart,  the  deeper  are  those  sorrows  which  he  dare  not 
own,  and  cannot  conquer.  The  poor  rejected  one,  perhaps 
faithful  and  fondly  attached,  must  be  thrown  off;  the 
whole  habits  of  his  life  must  be  broken ;  he  must  pay  the 
debt  he  owes  to  his  progenitors,  and  seek  to  renew  the 
comforts  of  the  domestic  circle  by  soliciting  some  lady 
glad  to  give  youth  and  beauty  for  wealth  and  consequence. 
The  forsaken  children,  once  the  objects  of  his  paternal 
%  tenderness,  must  be  banished  and  have  the  sins  of  their 
father  sorely  visited  upon  them. 

'  I  will  spare  myself  and  you  the  pain  of  finishing  this 
picture,  which  you  must  know  to  be  a  likeness,  not  of 
an  individual  only,  but  of  a  whole  tribe  of  expatriated 

283 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

Scotchmen  who  return  home  exactly  in  this  manner.  This 
is  what  I  dread  in  your  case,  and  would  fain  avoid.  All 
that  remains  to  me  is,  in  the  first  place,  not  to  burden 
you  with  encumbrances  that  may  check  the  freedom  of 
your  will ;  and  in  the  next,  to  assure  you  that  if  any 
person  whom  it  would  be  decent  or  proper  for  you  to 
connect  yourself  with  by  honourable  ties  should  gain  your 
affections,  your  mother  and  sisters  will  be  ready  to  adopt 
her  to  theirs.  Difference  of  nation,  even  of  religion, 
would  not  alienate  us  from  any  wife  whom  you  might 
choose.  Doubtless  we  should  much  prefer  that  you  were 
married  to  one  we  knew  and  esteemed ;  but  we  should 
far  rather  make  room  for  a  stranger  who  was  modest  and 
well-principled  than  see  you  in  the  predicament  I  have 
described.' 

It  would  be  well  if  more  mothers  had  the  courage  and 
humanity  to  address  their  sons  in  such  a  strain.  It  may 
also  be  pointed  out  how  fully  justified  Mrs.  Grant  was  in 
her  then  rather  unusual  action  of  trying  to  render  her 
daughters  self-supporting  instead  of  allowing  them  to 
remain  dependent  upon  the  precarious  life  and  goodwill 
of  a  male  relation. 

In  1815  the  now  diminished  family  moved  to  a  house 
in  Princes  Street.  About  this  time  a  quaint  little  incident 
happened  at  a  party  at  the  house  of  Lady  Charlotte 
Campbell l  (afterwards  Bury),  which  shows  the  enthusiasm 
that  Mrs.  Grants  work  had  aroused  in  one  at  least  of  her 
many  readers.  '  Judge  of  my  astonishment,'  she  writes, 
'  when  a  very  handsome  and  fashionable  young  man  asked 
if  I  was  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan.  Hearing  I  was,  he  flew 
across  the  room,  said  I  was  one  of  the  persons  in  Scotland 
he  most  wished  to  see,  and  kissed  my  hand  rapturously. 
1  Author  of  Flirtation  and  other  novels. 

284 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

.  .  .  He  then  descanted  on  the  poem  of  "The  High- 
landers" as  awaking  his  feeling  and  enthusiasm  for 
Scotland  at  a  very  early  age.  I  resolved  to  stay  him  out 
and  learn  who  he  was.  Lady  Charlotte  told  me,  to  my 
still  greater  surprise,  that  he  was  of  royal  lineage — in 
short,  he  is  the  Duke  of  Sussex's  son  1  by  Lady  Augusta 
Murray.1  Mrs.  Grant  compares  this  little  scene  with  the 
action  of  a  young  English  lady,  who  nearly  swooned  on 
being  presented  to  Walter  Scott,  and  kissed  the  hand  of 
Henry  Mackenzie.  Scott's  comment  was,  '  Did  you  ever 
hear  the  like  of  that  English  lass,  to  faint  at  the  sight  of 
a  cripple  Clerk  of  Session,  and  kiss  the  dry  wrinkled  hand 
of  an  old  tax-gatherer  ? ' 

Among  Mrs.  Grant's  literary  guests  in  1817  were 
Southey,  the  Poet  Laureate,  and  Joanna  Baillie,  the  latter 
then  in  the  height  of  her  fame,  her  works  being  approved 
even  by  the  arch-critic  Jeffrey.  '  The  Laureate,' 2  says 
our  chronicler,  'has  the  finest  poetical  countenance, 
features  unusually  high  and  somewhat  strong  though 
regular,  and  a  quantity  of  bushy  black  hair.  I  have 
heard  Southey  called  silent  and  constrained  ;  I  did  not 
find  him  so.  He  talked  easily  and  much,  without  seem- 
ing in  the  least  consequential,  nor  saying  a  single  word 
for  effect.'  Joanna  Baillie3  was  accompanied  to  Edin- 
burgh by  her  sister  Agnes,  whom  'people  like  in  their 
hearts  better  than  Joanna,  though  they  would  not  say  so 
for  the  world,  thinking  that  would  argue  great  want  of 
taste.  I  for  my  part  would  greatly  prefer  the  Muse  to 
walk  in  a  wood,  or  sit  in  a  bower  with;  but  in  that 

1  Captain  D'Este. 

2  Southey  was  then  in  his  forty-fourth  year.     He  had  been  appointed 
Poet  Laureate  in  1813. 

3  Joanna  was  then  fifty-five.     She  died  in  1851,  in  her  ninetieth  year. 

285 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

wearisome  farce,  a  large  party,  Agnes  acts  her  part  much 
better.  The  seriousness  and  simplicity  of  Mrs.  Joanna's 
manner  overawes  you  from  talking  commonplace  to  her ; 
and  as  for  pretension,  or  talking  fine,  you  would  as  soon 
think  of  giving  yourself  airs  before  an  Apostle.1 

The  chief  event  of  the  year  1820  was  a  visit  to 
Dumfries,  where  the  author  of  'The  Highlander'  had 
an  interview  with  Burns's  widow  Jean,  '  a  very  comely 
woman,  with  plain  sound  sense  and  very  good  manners. 
She  is  much  esteemed  and  respected  in  the  place,  and 
lives  in  the  same  house  that  her  husband  inhabited  in 
a  retired  part  of  the  town.  The  street  is  now  called 
Burns'  Street.  Her  house  is  a  model  of  neatness  and 
good  taste;  the  simple  elegance  with  which  everything 
is  disposed  is  so  consistent,  and  the  room  in  which  the 
hapless  bard  used  to  write  is  still  in  its  former  state, 
as  if  it  were  a  crime  to  alter  its  simple  furniture.' 
Another  interesting  visit  was  to  Abbotsford,  which  Mrs. 
Grant  declared  she  should  have  guessed  to  belong  to  the 
4  gifted  baronet,'  even  though  she  had  known  nothing  of 
the  fact. 

'  I  can  scarcely  believe,'  she  observes  about  this  time, 
'  that  any  one  has  more  vivid  enjoyment  of  Scott's  novels 
and  Wordsworth's  "Excursion"  than  myself;  for  I  am 
convinced  there  does  not  exist  a  person  of  decent  station, 
in  any  degree  cultivated  or  refined,  who  has  had  more 
intercourse  with  the  lower  classes.  Long  days  have  I 
knit  my  stocking,  or  carried  my  infant  from  sheaf  to 
sheaf,  sitting  and  walking  in  the  harvest-field,  atten- 
tively observing  conversation  which  for  the  first  few 
years  I  was  not  supposed  to  understand.  Seldom  a  day 
passed  that  I  did  not  find  two  or  three  petitioners  in 
the  kitchen,  respectfully  entreating  for  advice,  medicine, 
286 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

or  some  other  little  favour.  Often  I  sat  down  with  them 
and  led  them  to  converse,  captivated  with  the  strength 
and  beauty  of  the  expressions  in  their  native  tongue. 
.  .  .  Edinburgh  has  done  its  best  to  laugh  Wordsworth 
out  of  fashion,  but  without  success.  People  laugh  at  the 
Pedlar  [in  the  '  Excursion  '].  I  do  not ;  all  the  realities 
of  life  are  so  real  to  me,  and  the  peculiarities  of  the 
Scottish  manners  of  fifty  years  ago  have  left  so  vivid  an 
impression  on  my  mind,  that  I  can  easily  conceive  a 
pedlar  reading  Milton.  .  .  .  Whoever  has  read  the  Bible 
with  an  open  mina  and  with  a  certain  degree  of  imagina- 
tion, has  nothing  more  to  learn  of  the  sublime  and  the 
pathetic ;  moreover,  he  will  not  find  the  transition  to 
Milton  very  difficult.1 

In  1821  Mrs.  Grant  lost  her  youngest  daughter 
Moore,  who  died  after  a  long  illness  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
four.  She  was  herself  now  more  or  less  crippled  by  a 
fall  which  had  injured  her  side,  but  otherwise  she  retained 
her  wonderful  health  and  her  courageous  serenity  of 
mind.  She  observes  in  a  letter  written  in  her  sixty- 
eighth  year  that  it  has  always  been  the  fashion  to  hold 
old  women  cheap  everywhere  except  in  Scottish  novels, 
and  among  the  North  American  Indians.  '  I  think,1  she 
continues, '  we  old  women  begin  to  be  more  appreciated 
since  the  spread  of  knowledge  has  made  us  all  a  thinking 
people.  Formerly,  a  woman  uncultivated  and  moving  in 
a  narrow  circle  was  only  of  consequence  in  the  days  of 
her  youth  and  usefulness;  and  unless  animated  by  a 
lively  devotion,  was  apt  to  grow  torpid,  and  be  forgotten 
by  all  but  her  nearest  relations.  Now  that  the  powers 
of  the  mind  are  more  called  into  action,  that  season 
lasts  longer,  and  old  women  take  more  interest  in  the 
young,  and  create  more  interest  in  themselves.  We  grow 

287 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

old  without  growing  mouldy,  and  the  young  mingle  our 
knowledge  with  their  own  acquirements.' 

Certainly  Mrs.  Grant  did  not  allow  herself  to  grow 
mouldy,  but  kept  up  gallantly  with  the  times.  In  1821 
the  Highland  Society  of  London  awarded  her  a  gold 
medal  for  her  essay  on  '  The  Past  and  Present  State  of  the 
Highlands,1  while  by  the  advice  of  Henry  Mackenzie  she 
occupied  her  leisure  in  translating  Gaelic  poems.  In 
1823  she  is  full  of  a  new  book  that  everybody  is  reading, 
De  Quincey's  Confessions  of  an  English  Opium-Eater, 
and  observes  :  '  Many  strange  people  have  I  encountered 
in  my  journey  through  life,  and  among  the  rest  this  same 
opium-eater.  I  spent  an  idle  half  day  talking  with  him 
some  fourteen  years  ago  in  London,  when  he  was  a  student 
at  Oxford,  and  have  met  him  once  since.  I  directly 
recognised  him  through  the  thin  disguise  in  his  book."1 
Another  new  literary  celebrity  of  this  period  was  Miss 
Ferrier,  whose  first  novel,  Marriage,  was  thought  by  some 
of  her  admirers  to  surpass  anything  that  Scott  ever 
wrote.  Of  this  Mrs.  Grant  remarks:  'It  was  evidently 
the  production  of  a  clever,  caustic  mind,  with  much 
good  painting  of  character  in  it.  I  have  just  finished 
a  hasty  perusal  of  a  new  work  by  the  same  author, 
The  Inheritance,  and  join  the  general  voice  in  calling 
it  clever,  though  there  is  perhaps  too  much  of  caricature 
in  it  throughout.'  Mrs.  Grant  delighted  in  the  novels 
of  Jane  Austen  and  Miss  Edgeworth,  and  upon  certain 
other  specimens  of  contemporary  fiction — now  dead — 
she  utters  the  following  piece  of  criticism,  which  is  worth 
quoting  if  only  because  it  is  so  peculiarly  applicable  to 
certain  popular  productions  of  the  present  day  :  '  The 
dialogue,  though  clever  and  witty,  has  too  much  of  the 
"  snip-snap  short  and  interruption  smart "  of  the  old 
288 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

comedy ;  you  cannot  fancy  people  playing  thus  at  in- 
tellectual shuttlecock.  The  author  is  so  pleased  with 
the  sparkles  he  continually  strikes  out  that  he  neglects 
probability  and  the  conduct  of  the  story,  forgetting  that 
in  a  picture  shade  is  necessary  as  well  as  light.1 

In  June  1823  Isabella  Grant,  who  was  generally 
regarded  as  the  flower  of  the  flock,  died  after  a  short 
illness.  The  mother  bore  up  with  her  never-failing 
courage  under  this  terrible  blow,  which  left  her  with  but 
one  daughter  and  one  son  remaining  out  of  a  family  of 
twelve.  Great  sympathy  was  felt  for  her  in  her  troubles, 
not  only  by  her  fellow-citizens,  but  also  by  visitors  to 
Edinburgh.  In  the  privately-printed  correspondence  of 
Mr.  John  Carne,  author  of  Letters  from  the  East,  there 
is  a  curious  little  word-portrait  of  Mrs.  Grant  about  this 
time.  Writing  from  Edinburgh  in  September,  1823, 
he  says  : — 

'Among  the  literary  ladies  of  my  acquaintance  here 
is  Mrs.  Grant,  whose  Letters  from  the  Mountains  and 
Memoirs  of  an  American  Lady  you  have  probably  read. 
An  extraordinary  woman,  now  just  sixty  years  of  age, 
she  has  lost,  one  after  the  other,  within  a  few  years, 
three  lovely  and  accomplished  daughters  and  a  son,  one 
of  the  former  in  a  very  melancholy  way  ;  to  use  Seattle's 
affecting  expression  of  his  son,  "  her  elegant  mind  became 
mingled  with  madness."  But  the  vigour  of  her  mind 
supports  Mrs.  Grant  through  all.  She  had  reared  them 
in  the  retirement  of  Laggan  with  such  exquisite  pains 
and  attention,  and  they  were  so  very  handsome  and 
elegant,  that  their  friends  seem  to  say  they  have  left  no 
equals  behind  them.  The  powers  of  conversation  pos- 
sessed by  Mrs.  Grant  are  considerable,  as  well  as  her 
acquaintance  with  the  manners  of  the  country,  and  most 
T  "289 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

of  its  characters.  And  what  person  would  you  give  to 
the  mother  of  such  loveliness,  the  romantic  writer  whose 
sensibility  of  style  made  you  love  the  very  wilds  of 
America  ?  Did  you  ever  wish  to  see  the  Meg  Merrilies 
of  Scott  ?  You  should  see  Mrs.  Grant  then  enter  a 
room  with  her  very  tall  large  figure,  Highland  plaid 
thrown  over  her  shoulders,  masculine  features  and  harsh 
voice,  with  a  cast  in  one  eye.  There  you  have  the  stern 
and  dark  Queen  of  the  Blue-Stockings  in  Edinburgh/ 
This  picture,  one  hopes,  is  rather  over-coloured,  since 
the  portrait  of  our  heroine  by  Mackay,  R.S.A.,  represents 
her  as  a  pleasant,  sensible-looking  old  lady,  no  beauty 
certainly,  but  scarcely  our  idea  of  a  typical  Meg  Merrilies. 
In  1825  Scott,  Mackenzie,  Jeffrey,  and  other  litterateurs 
joined,  as  we  read  in  Lockharfs  Life,  in  subscribing  a 
petition  for  a  pension  to  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan,  which, 
as  Scott  observes  in  his  Diary,  '  we  thought  was  a  tribute 
merited  by  her  as  an  authoress  ;  and  in  my  opinion  much 
more  by  the  firmness  and  elasticity  of  mind  with  which 
she  has  borne  a  succession  of  great  domestic  calamities. 
Unhappily,  there  was  only  about  a  hundred  pounds  open 
on  the  pension  list,  and  this  the  ministers  assigned  in 
equal  portions  to  Mrs.  Grant  and  a  distressed  lady, 
granddaughter  of  a  forfeited  Scottish  nobleman.  Mrs. 
Grant,  proud  as  a  Highlandwoman,  vain  as  a  poetess, 
and  absurd  as  a  blue- stocking,  has  taken  this  partition 
in  malem  partem,  and  written  to  Lord  Melville  about 
her  merits,  and  that  her  friends  do  not  consider  her 
claims  as  being  fairly  canvassed,  with  something  like  a 
demand  that  her  petition  be  submitted  to  the  king. 
This  is  not  the  way  to  make  her  plack  a  bawbee ;  and 
Lord  Melville,  a  little  miffed  in  turn,  sends  the  whole 
correspondence  to  me,  to  know  whether  Mrs.  Grant  will 
290 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

accept  the  £50  or  not.  Now,  hating  to  deal  with  ladies 
when  they  are  in  an  unreasonable  humour,  I  have  got 
the  good-humoured  Man  of  Feeling  [Mackenzie]  to  find 
out  the  lady's  mind,  and  I  take  on  myself  the  task  of 
making  her  peace  with  Lord  Melville.  There  is  no 
great  doubt  how  it  will  end,  for  your  scornful  dog  will 
always  eat  your  dirty  pudding.  After  all,  the  poor  lady 
is  greatly  to  be  pitied — her  sole  remaining  daughter  deep 
and  far  gone  in  a  decline.' 

Two  or  three  weeks  later  there  is  the  further  entry  in 
the  Diary :  '  Mrs.  Grant  intimates  that  she  will  take  her 
pudding — her  pension  I  mean — and  is  contrite,  as  Henry 
Mackenzie  vouches.  I  am  glad  the  stout  old  girl  is  not 
foreclosed.1"  It  is  an  amazing  proof  of  Lockhart's  want 
of  consideration  for  others,  to  say  nothing  of  his  want  of 
taste,  that  he  should  have  published  these  extracts  from 
a  private  diary  when  the  subject  of  them  was  still 
living.  Fortunately,  when  Lockharfs  Life  appeared,  Mrs. 
Grant's  family  contrived  that  she  should  not  see  the 
obnoxious  passages,  and  we  read  that  she  thoroughly 
enjoyed  the  biography  of  her  hero. 

The  passionate  love  and  admiration  with  which  the 
author  of  the  Letters  from  the  Mountains  was  regarded  by 
some  of  her  country-folk  is  well  illustrated  by  the  follow- 
ing curious  and  touching  little  incident.  In  May,  1823,  a 
person  named  'M.  Jones'  wrote  to  Constable  the  pub- 
lisher to  ask  if  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan  was  still  alive,  and 
if  so,  where  she  lived,  as  the  writer  wished  to  send  her  a 
present.  The  desired  information  having  been  given,  '  a 
box  arrived,'  to  quote  the  recipient's  account,  '  containing 
some  very  good  black  silk  for  a  dress ;  three  shawls,  one 
a  black  silk  one,  and  all  calculated  for  a  widow's  garb ; 
a  pair  of  excellent  black  silk  stockings;  six  beautiful 

291 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

French  cambric  handkerchiefs,  all  marked  with  my  cipher 
impressed  on  symbolical  figures ;  likewise  two  pairs  of 
gloves ;  and  finally,  neatly  wrapped  in  paper,  a  gold 
sovereign  to  pay  the  carriage,  and  a  very  business-like 
invoice  of  the  whole.  But  then  the  letter  along  with 
them,  in  native  beauty,  simplicity,  and  originality,  was 
worth  the  whole.  You  would  be  shocked  were  I  to 
tell  you  how  long  my  Letters  had  been  the  delight  and 
consolation  of  that  excellent  person.1 

In  August,  1825,  Mrs.  Grant  made  a  short  tour  in  the 
Highlands  for  the  benefit  of  her  daughter  Mary1s  health, 
an  arduous  undertaking  for  a  lady  of  seventy  who  could 
only  move  about  with  the  aid  of  crutches.  The  travellers 
spent  a  few  days  at  Laggan  among  other  places,  this 
being  the  first  visit  that  its  chronicler  had  paid  to  her 
dearly-loved  village  since  her  departure  a  quarter  of  a 
century  before.  Here  Mrs.  Grant  received  an  invitation 
from  Lady  Huntly  to  pass  a  couple  of  days  at  Kinrara, 
the  widowed  Duke  of  Gordons  place  on  Speyside.  The 
invitation  was  accepted,  and  Mrs.  Grant  was  delighted 
both  with  her  visit  and  her  hostess.  The  most  distin- 
guished of  her  fellow-guests  were  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Bedford,  of  whom,  she  says,  '  we  had  merely  a  glimpse 
for  half  an  hour;  but  a  descendant  of  Lady  Rachel 
Russell  is  always  worth  looking  at,  and  the  Duchess  one 
may  look  at  for  herself,  she  being  still  very  handsome.1 
Mrs.  Grant  had  intended  to  return  home  by  a  certain 
steamer  from  Inverness  to  Greenock,  but  was  fortunately 
prevented  by  an  accident  from  taking  her  passage.  The 
steamer  was  lost  on  the  voyage,  and  nearly  all  the 
passengers  perished. 

The  last  few  years  of  our  heroine's  life  may  be  briefly 
passed  over.  The  failure  of  Constable  in  1826,  involving 
292 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

as  it  did  the  ruin  of  Scott,  caused  much  concern  to  the 
many  friends  and  admirers  of  the  Wizard.  But  Scott, 
in  the  words  of  his  ever-faithful  worshipper  Mrs.  Grant, 
was  far  too  great  a  man  to  be  lessened  by  adverse  circum- 
stances. '  He  will,  I  am  certain,'  she  writes, '  bear  this 
vicissitude  as  he  bore  the  harder  trial  of  the  two — pro- 
sperity. One  of  his  chief  mortifications  arising  from 
this  business  is  that  his  works,  seized  by  his  creditors, 
must  be  owned  as  his.'  A  year  later  she  writes  that 
'  Scott  appears  greater  than  ever.  He  lives  with  his 
daughter  in  a  small  house,  seeing  no  company,  and 
devoted  to  his  literary  labours,  but  always  cheerful, 
placid,  and  unaltered.1  In  this  year,  1827,  Mary  Grant, 
the  last  remaining  daughter,  died  of  consumption.  A 
young  niece  came  to  live  with  the  bereaved  mother,  re- 
maining until  the  marriage  of  Mrs.  Grant's  son  in  1833. 

In  June  1828  Edward  Irving  was  creating  a  great 
sensation  in  Edinburgh,  and  Mrs.  Grant  was  persuaded 
by  her  son  to  go  and  hear  him.  '  He  preached,'  she  says, 
'  at  seven  A.M.,  but  it  was  necessary  to  take  possession  of 
a  seat  an  hour  before  the  service  began.  I  heard  nothing 
that  raised  him  above  the  place  that  he  formerly  held  in 
my  estimation ;  but  in  justice  I  must  add  that  the  prophet 
is  less  affected  and  theatrical  than  I  expected,  that  he 
has  a  pleasing  voice,  and  that  his  action  is  not  unsuited 
to  his  doctrine,  which  he  evidently  supposes  to  be  autho- 
rised by  inspiration.  Of  his  discourse  I  will  only  say  at 
present  that  it  has  little  coherence,  a  great  deal  of  ver- 
biage, and  no  indication  of  high  imagination  or  sound 
reasoning.  He  is  the  sole  subject  of  conversation.' 

Two  interesting  visitors  of  these  later  years  were  Mrs. 
Hemans  and  Thomas  Campbell.  Of  the  first  her  hostess 
says :  '  I  had  a  very  charming  guest  before  I  left  town 

293 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

— no  other  than  Mrs.  Hemans,1  for  whom  I  have  long  felt 
something  like  affection.  She  had  two  fine  boys  with 
her,  the  objects  visibly  of  very  great  tenderness.  She  is 
entirely  feminine,  and  her  language  has  a  charm  like  that 
of  her  verse — the  same  ease  and  peculiar  grace,  with  more 
vivacity.  She  has  not  the  slightest  tinge  of  affectation, 
and  is  so  refined,  so  gentle,  that  you  must  both  love  and 
respect  her.  ...  I  was  sitting  alone  one  day  lately,  and 
the  servant  announced  "  Mr.  Campbell."  Looking  up,  I 
saw  a  dejected-looking  gentleman.  "  I  should  know 
you,"  said  I,  "  but  I  cannot  be  sure."  "  Campbell  the 
poet,"  said  he,  with  a  kind  of  affecting  simplicity. 
Though  by  no  means  approving  his  political  principles, 
my  heart  warmed  to  him  when  I  saw  this  sweet  son  of 
song  dejected,  spiritless,  and  afflicted.  The  death  of 
his  wife,  to  whom  he  was  much  attached,  appears  to 
have  sunk  him  greatly.' 

To  the  last,  we  are  told,  Mrs.  Grant  was  a  delightful 
companion,  her  conversational  powers  being  even  more 
attractive  than  her  writings.  She  never  lost  her  interest 
in  life,  was  always  delighted  to  welcome  visitors,  and 
loved  to  collect  children  and  young  people  about  her. 
Even  her  powers  of  being  actively  useful  to  her  fellow- 
creatures  continued  long  after  she  had  reached  an  age  at 
which  most  women  are  content  to  sit  with  their  hands 
before  them  and  rest.  In  June,  1831,  when  she  was  in 
her  seventy-seventh  year,  she  describes  a  typical  day  of 
her  life.  Besides  her  usual  occupations  of  reading,  writ- 
ing her  Memoirs,  knitting,  entertaining  friends,  and 
playing  chess,  she  mentions  receiving  dependants,  and 
adds :  '  Could  you  dream  of  my  having  dependants  who 

1  Mrs.  Hemans  was  born  in  1774,  and  died  of  consumption  in  May 
1835- 

294 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

have  been  all  my  life  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  gulf  of 
poverty  without  falling  in  ?  and  this  not  because  I  had 
much  worldly  prudence,  but  because  I  made  stern  self- 
denial,  and  what  Miss  Edgeworth  calls  civil  courage,  serve 
me  instead.  Well,  but  my  dependants  want  a  letter  to 
some  one,  or  advice,  or  a  governess's  place;  and  my 
protegees  have  turned  out  so  well,  that  I  have  constant 
applications  for  such  persons.' 

In  the  same  year  Mrs.  Grant  gives  an  amusing  descrip- 
tion of  an  adventure  that  happened  to  her  on  what  was 
perhaps  her  last  appearance  at  a  large  public  gathering, 
a  flower-show,  at  the  Hopetoun  Rooms.  *  I  had  no 
bonnet,'  she  explains,  *  but  a  very  respectable  cap ;  and 
as  I  walked  in  from  my  sedan-chair  I  was  surprised  to  see 
another  lady  with  exactly  such  crutches  and  precisely 
such  a  shawl  as  my  own.  I  looked  with  much  interest  at 
my  fellow-cripple,  which  interest  she  seemed  to  recipro- 
cate. She  took  her  place  in  another  room,  equally  large 
and  splendid,  but  so  open  that  I  had  a  full  view  of  it. 
Amidst  all  the  flush  of  bloom  before  me,  I  often  with- 
drew my  attention  to  regard  this  withered  flower  with 
still  increasing  interest ;  the  more  so,  that  every  time  I 
turned  to  look  her  eyes  met  mine,  and  at  length  I  thought 
with  a  familiar  expression,  till  at  last  I  remarked  it  to 
those  around  me,  and  said  I  thought  she  would  like  to 
be  introduced  to  me  when  the  show  was  over.  I  thought 
too  I  had  seen  her  somewhere ;  her  figure  was  as  ample 
as  my  own,  but  I  comforted  myself  with  the  reflection 
that  I  had  a  better  face,  hers  being  almost  ugly.  I  rose 
at  length,  and  so  did  she, — but  I  saw  her  no  more.  Think 
of  my  mortification  at  having  the  laugh  of  the  whole 
house  against  me  on  coming  home.  There  was  no  such 
room,  and  no  such  lady ;  large  folding  doors  of  looking- 

295 


MRS.  GRANT  OF  LAGGAN 

glass  and  the  reflection  of  my  own  figure  had  deceived 
me.  When  I  had  been  talking  of  this  other  lady  they 
had  imagined  it  all  playfulness,  and  never  thought  of 
the  deception.  This  could  scarcely  have  happened  had  I 
been  familiar  with  my  own  countenance;  but  I  have 
actually  not  looked  in  a  mirror  for  more  than  two  years.1 
In  1838  Mrs.  Grant  succumbed  to  an  attack  of  influenza, 
being  then  in  her  eighty-fourth  year.  Her  character  and 
her  life-work  cannot  be  better  summed  up  than  in  the 
memorial  written  by  Scott  twelve  years  before,  and  sent 
to  the  king  with  the  petition  for  a  pension.  In  this  the 
undersigned  expressed  their  opinion  that  '  the  character 
and  talents  of  Mrs.  Grant  have  long  rendered  her  not  only 
a  useful  and  estimable  member  of  society,  but  one  eminent 
for  the  services  she  has  rendered  to  the  cause  of  religion, 
morality,  knowledge,  and  taste.  Her  writings,  deservedly 
popular  in  her  own  country,  derive  their  success  from  the 
happy  manner  in  which,  addressing  themselves  to  the 
national  pride  of  the  Scottish  people,  they  breathe  a  spirit 
at  once  of  patriotism  and  of  that  candour  which  renders 
patriotism  unselfish  and  liberal.  We  have  no  hesitation 
in  attesting  our  belief  that  Mrs.  Grant's  writings  have 
produced  a  strong  and  salutary  effect  upon  her  countrymen, 
who  not  only  found  recorded  in  them  much  of  national 
history  and  antiquities,  which  would  otherwise  have  been 
forgotten,  but  found  them  combined  with  the  soundest 
and  best  lessons  of  virtue  and  morality.1 


296 


THE 
ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

(WITH  EXTRACTS  FROM  HIS  UNPUBLISHED  LOVE-LETTERS) 

(1769-1799) 

THE  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth  century  will  probably 
always  be  celebrated  in  history  as  the  age  of  the  purest 
reason,  the  reign  of  the  commonest  sense.  Even  its  poets 
were  reasonable,  while  its  lovers  adored  before  all  things  the 
good  sense  and  'judgment'  of  their  mistresses,  and  based 
their  hopes  of  matrimonial  happiness  upon  a  mutual  good 
understanding,  equality  of  sentiments,  and  similarity  of 
tastes.  From  passion,  with  its  feverish  heats  and  chills, 
its  absurd  exaltations  and  irrational  depressions,  they 
shrank  back  in  alarm  and  disapproval,  while  the  very 
words  and  phrases  of  endearment  were  expurgated  from 
their  vocabulary,  or  chilled  down  to  a  becoming  degree 
of  temperature.  Love  became  '  regard,'  and  a  lover  a 
friend,  passion  was  transformed  into  'sentiment,'  and  charm 
into  '  propriety  of  conduct.' 

This  tendency  is  peculiarly  characteristic  of  the  love- 
letters  addressed  by  John  Tweddell,  sometimes  called 
the  English  Marcellus,  to  Miss  Isabel  Gunning,  which 
curious  effusions  have  recently  come  to  light.  Tweddell, 
though  he  has  found  a  niche  in  the  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography,  will  probably  be  unknown  even  by  name  to 
most  modern  readers,  since  he  owed  his  chief  celebrity  to  a 

299   " 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

posthumous  literary  scandal,  long  since  forgotten.  Yet  he 
was  regarded  as  a  'coming  man1  in  his  own  day,  and 
probably  it  is  due  to  his  premature  death  that  he  must  be 
classed  among  the  might-have-beens.  If  his  horoscope 
had  been  cast,  it  would  certainly  have  been  found  that  he 
was  born  under  an  unlucky  star ;  for  love,  death,  fame, 
even  the  elements,  all  seem  to  have  cherished  an  equal 
spite  against  him. 

The  son  of  Francis  Tweddell,  a  country  gentleman 
living  at  Threepwood,  near  Hexham,  in  Northumberland, 
John  was  born  on  June  1,  1769,  and  educated  at  a 
Yorkshire  school,  whence  he  was  sent  to  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge.  Here  he  distinguished  himself  by  winning 
nearly  all  the  prizes  and  medals  for  which  he  competed 
(notably  the  three  Brown  Medals  in  one  year),  and  was 
elected  a  Fellow  in  1792.  On  leaving  college  he  published 
his  prize  compositions  in  Greek,  Latin,  and  English,  under 
the  title  of  Prolusiones  Juveniles,  a  work  which  was  treated 
with  respectful  attention  by  the  reviewers.  He  entered  at 
the  Middle  Temple  in  obedience  to  his  father's  wishes ;  but 
having  no  taste  for  law,  occupied  himself  with  his  favourite 
classical  studies,  and  with  vague  aspirations  after  a  politi- 
cal or  diplomatic  career.  He  held  what  were  regarded  as 
4  advanced '  views,  admired  the  principles  that  led  to  the 
French  Revolution,  and  was  on  friendly  terms  with  Charles 
Fox,  Charles  Grey  (afterwards  Earl  Grey,  a  fellow  North- 
umbrian), as  well  as  many  other  members  of  the  Whig 
party.  He  was  also  an  intimate  friend  of  Dr.  Parr's, 
though  that  great  scholar  was  more  than  twenty  years  his 
senior ;  and  he  was  on  visiting  terms  with  Dr.  Paley. 

In  July  1794  Mr.  Tweddell,  who  was  then  just  twenty- 
five,  met  Miss  Isabel  Gunning,  daughter  of  Sir  Robert 
Gunning  (cousin  pf  the  '  beauties '  and  ex-Ambassador  to 
300 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

St.  Petersburg),  at  a  country  house ;  and  after  an  acquaint- 
ance of  three  weeks,  made  her  an  offer  of  his  hand  and 
heart — valuable  assets,  no  doubt,  but  not  likely  to  be 
approved  by  his  prospective  father-in-law.  Miss  Gunning 
assured  her  lover  that  Sir  Robert  would  never  consent  to 
his  suit,  but  acknowledged  that  he  was  not  indifferent  to 
her,  and  agreed  at  his  earnest  request  to  carry  on  a  secret 
correspondence  with  him.  The  first  letter  is  dated  Julyt29, 
1794,and  it  is  evident  that  the  pair  were  then  staying  under 
the  same  roof,  possibly  in  the  house  of  the  Hon.  Stephen 
Digby,  who  was  a  friend  of  Tweddell's,  and  brother-in-law 
to  Isabel.  This  Colonel  Digby  was  one  of  the  equerries 
to  the  king,  and  figures  largely  in  Madame  D'Arblay's 
Diary  as  '  Mr.  Fairly.'  When  Miss  Burney  made  his 
acquaintance  at  Court  he  was  a  most  disconsolate  widower, 
having  lost  his  first  wife  (a  daughter  of  Lord  Ilchester)  in 
1787.  He  evidently  made  a  strong  impression  on  Fanny's 
heart,  and  she  can  hardly  conceal  her  disappointment 
when  he  consoles  himself,  in  1790,  with  Margaret  Gunning, 
one  of  Queen  Charlotte's  ladies-in-waiting,  who  figures 
in  the  Diary  as  '  Miss  Fuselier.'  Mrs.  Digby  is  described 
by  her  rival  as  a  woman  of  learning,  and  her  literary 
quality  is  proved  by  a  manuscript  found  after  her  death 
containing  her  '  Last  Wishes,'  which  is  written  in  very 
beautiful  and  touching  language.  It  is  evident  that 
Isabel  Gunning  was  also  an  intelligent  and  well-read 
woman,  or  a  man  of  Tweddell's  stamp  would  hardly  have 
written  to  her,  as  he  does,  in  the  tone  of  one  addressing 
an  intellectual  equal. 

To  return  to  the  summer  of  1794,  which  saw  the 
beginning  of  our  hero's  brief  romance.  The  young  man, 
to  quote  his  brother's  testimony,  was  of  the  middle 
stature,  and  of  a  handsome,  well-proportioned  figure. 

301 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

'  His  address  was  polished,  affable,  and  prepossessing 
in  a  high  degree,  and  there  was  in  his  whole  appear- 
ance an  air  of  dignified  benevolence,  which  portrayed 
at  once  the  suavity  of  his  nature  and  the  independence 
of  his  mind.  In  conversation  he  had  a  talent  so 
peculiarly  his  own  as  to  form  a  very  distinguishing 
feature  of  his  character.  A  chastised  and  ingenious  wit 
which  could  seize  on  an  incident  in  the  happiest  fashion  ; 
a  lively  fancy,  which  could  clothe  the  choicest  ideas  in  the 
best  language ;  these,  supported  by  a  large  acquaintance 
with  men  and  books,  together  with  the  further  advantages 
of  a  melodious  voice  and  a  playfulness  of  manner  singularly 
sweet  and  engaging,  rendered  him  the  delight  of  every 
company.  .  .  .  Accomplished  and  admired  as  he  was,  his 
modesty  was  conspicuous,  and  his  whole  deportment  devoid 
of  affectation  or  pretension.  Qualified  eminently  to  shine 
in  society,  and  actually  sharing  its  applause,  he  found  his 
chief  enjoyment  in  the  retired  circle  of  select  friends,  in 
whose  literary  leisure,  and  in  the  amenities  of  female 
converse,  which  for  him  had  the  highest  charm,  he  sought 
the  purest  and  most  refined  recreation.'' 

John  Tweddell's  first  love-letter  seems  to  have  been 
written  directly  after  his  declaration  of  his  passion,  and, 
like  all  the  others  in  the  series,  it  is  inscribed  in  an 
exquisite  hand,  with  scarcely  an  erasure  or  alteration, 
while  it  is  expressed  with  an  accuracy  and  formality  that 
are  somewhat  at  variance  with  his  professedly  strong 
feelings  and  warm  heart. 

'  My  dear  Miss  Gunning'  (it  runs), 

'  The  opportunities  I  have  of  speaking  to  you  are  so 

very  few  and  so  much  interrupted,  my  mind  also  at  these 

times  is  so  distracted  and  confused,  that  I  feel  myself 

compelled  to  write  what  I  am  unable  to  say.     My  pen, 

302 


JOHN    TWEDDELL. 

From  a  Silhouette. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

I  fear,  will  not  more  avail  me  than  my  lips ;  and  if  so,  I 
am  certain  of  being  under  little  obligation  to  it.  Yet 
silent  I  cannot  be,  tho"1  I  am  conscious  that  those  feelings 
that  might  furnish  expression  to  some  men  will  render 
me  embarrassed  and  almost  unintelligible.  I  shall  en- 
deavour, however,  to  be  as  explicit  as  I  can ;  and  if  you 
should  not  understand  me,  you  will  in  justice  pardon  a 
confusion  which  you  have  yourself  created.  Believe  me, 
my  dear  madam,  I  did  not  speak  lightly  when  I  said  that 
I  shall  have  serious  reason  either  to  delight  in  or  to  regret 
our  accidental  meeting.  When  I  first  had  the  happiness 
(may  I  call  it  so  ?)  of  taking  a  part  in  that  conversation 
which  introduced  me  to  you,  I  was  not  aware  that  it  was 
to  be  bought  at  the  price  of  so  much  future  anxiety.  .  .  . 
'  You  have  asked  me  how  an  attachment  so  strong  as 
to  require  confession  can  have  arisen  from  an  intercourse 
of  so  short  a  date.  It  may  be  impossible  perhaps  for  you 
to  conceive  this,  because  you  are  unacquainted  with  your 
own  attractions ;  and  it  certainly  is  impossible  for  me  to 
explain  it,  because  I  am  not  able  to  detail  them.  You 
know  that  such  a  question  cannot  admit  of  a  very  ready 
solution.  It  depends  upon  feelings,  and  upon  an  infinity 
of  little  things,  the  power  of  which  is  not  to  be  described 
either  singly  or  collectively.  Of  this  I  beseech  you  to  be 
assured,  that  my  regard  is  not  of  a  whimsical  or  fleeting 
nature,  nor  the  result  of  momentary  passion.  It  is  not 
the  boyish  admiration  of  a  fine  person,  or  of  winning  and 
engaging  manners ;  tho1  you  will  permit  me  to  say  that 
these  alone  have  in  you  more  attractions  in  my  eyes  than  all 
the  united  accomplishments  of  other  women.  You  are  too 
sincere  yourself,  if  you  are  not  too  discerning,  to  suspect 
that  I  can  mean  to  insult  you  by  flattery.  God  Almighty 
knows  that  everything  which  I  have  said,  or  shall  say  to 

303 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

you,  is  the  genuine  effusion  of  a  sincere  and  honest  heart. 
You  will  therefore  believe  me  if,  after  having  stated  those 
causes  which  alone  are  not  adequate  to  such  a  profusion  of 
regard,  I  should  attempt,  however  imperfectly,  to  acquaint 
you  with  some  of  the  real  grounds  of  my  attachment. 

'  It  is  founded,  then,  in  that  similarity  which  I  discover 
in  our  tempers  and  dispositions,  in  our  common  notions 
of  men  and  things,  and  in  our  mutual  opinions  of  the 
means  of  happiness.  Do  not  conceive  that  I  have  drawn 
my  ideas  upon  this  subject  solely  from  the  different  con- 
versations I  have  enjoyed  with  you.  Where  we  are  much 
interested  we  can  derive  information  from  occurrences 
apparently  the  most  trivial  and  unimportant,  which  to 
inattentive  persons  are  neither  pregnant  with  meaning 
nor  productive  of  remark.  But  to  a  person  in  my 
situation  every  gesture  has  significance,  and  every  word  a 
force.  Since  first  I  saw  you  I  have  scrupulously  watched 
every  motion  and  look,  have  examined  your  conduct,  and 
listened  to  your  conversation.  I  have  beheld  a  disposition 
such  as  I  never  before  saw ;  and  which,  manifested  as  it 
now  is  in  the  sweetest  and  most  captivating  affection  to 
your  father,  affords  the  most  undoubted  proof  of  those 
domestic  virtues  which  constitute  the  greatest  happiness 
that  mortals  can  partake  of.  The  qualities  of  your  mind 
are  equally  delightful  to  me,  for  I  never  conversed  with 
any  woman  (excepting  one,  the  wife  of  a  particular  friend) 
who  possessed  the  same  information,  and  was  at  the  same 
time  so  unostentatious  of  her  knowledge,  and  so  diffident 
of  her  powers.1 

After  assuring  his  lady  once  again  that  these  expres- 
sions contain  no  grain  of  flattery  or  compliment,  the  lover 
continues : — 

*  My  dear  Miss  Gunning,  whether  I  estimate  happiness 
304 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

wisely  or  not,  that  Being  only  knows  who  endowed  me 
with  the  desire,  and  I  hope  with  the  capacity,  of  attaining 
it.  I  may  be  deceived  in  my  notions  of  the  things  wherein 
it  consists  ;  but  they  appear  to  me  at  least  to  be  agreeable 
to  reason,  and  not  inconsistent  with  wisdom.  To  the 
exercise  of  the  social  affections,  to  the  peaceful  habits  of 
domestic  life,  I  look  as  to  the  foundations  of  my  comfort 
and  the  limit  of  my  wishes.  I  have  not  seen  much  life, 
but  I  have  seen  as  much  perhaps  of  the  world  and  its  ways 
as  most  other  men  of  my  years,  and  of  what  I  have  seen  I 
trust  I  have  been  no  unprofitable  nor  incurious  observer. 
Amongst  all  the  various  means  that  are  pursued  for  the 
attainment  of  happiness,  that  universal  end,  few,  very 
few,  appear  to  me  successful  or  satisfactory.  The 
irrational  dissipations  of  mankind,  the  prodigal  waste  of 
natural  and  moral  excellence,  the  degradation  of  intellect, 
and  the  perversion  of  all  physical  good,  make  me 
melancholy  whenever  I  reflect  upon  them.  Those  beings 
alone  appear  to  me  to  be  really  happy  who,  under  the 
tranquil  conviction  of  a  benevolent  Providence,  spend 
their  lives  in  improving  their  minds  and  in  exercising 
their  virtues;  who  have  one  friend,  at  least,  on  whose 
affection  they  can  at  all  times  rely,  and  in  whose  bosom 
they  can  deposit  their  most  intimate  thoughts — one  who, 
in  sickness,  in  sorrow,  and  disaster,  can  alleviate  their 
pains,  and  to  whom  in  joy  they  may  turn  with  the 
certainty  of  communicating  equal  happiness.  All  my 
thoughts  and  wishes  are  bent  to  this  point ;  and  if 
I  never  attain  to  it,  my  mind  is  not,  I  fear,  of  sufficient 
strength  to  refrain  from  envying  the  bliss  of  others. 
But  never,  till  very  lately,  did  I  see  a  person  on  whom 
as  the  object  of  such  a  pursuit  my  mind  could  con- 
tentedly rest. 

u  305 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

'  I  have  three  times  been  thrown,  twice  by  design,  and 
once  by  accident,  into  situations  the  eligibility  of  which 
has  been  cried  up  to  me  by  my  friends.  But  who  can 
judge  for  another?  Certainly,  if  fortune,  I  had  almost 
said  opulence,  had  been  the  object  of  my  wishes,  I  might 
once  at  least  in  my  life  have  been  a  very  rich  man.  But 
the  want  of  something  or  other  which  I  have  conceived 
essential  to  my  happiness,  and  the  firm  belief  that  I 
should  in  future  meet  some  woman  whose  superior  merits 
would  cause  me  to  repent,  have  always  repelled  me  from 
embracing  any  connection.  More  than  once  I  have  felt 
that  light,  fluttering  fancy  which  begins  and  ends  we 
know  not  how,  nor  why,  nor  when — which  "  dies  in  the 
cradle  where  it  lies."  And  that  I  should  have  felt  such 
capricious  freaks  of  a  temporary  humour  I  cannot  repent, 
since  that  circumstance  furnishes  me  at  present  with  the 
power  of  comparing  the  very  different  sensations  which 
accompany  a  volatile  and  occasional  taste,  and  a  rational 
and  stable  affection.  In  the  very  long  acquaintances  that 
I  have  had  with  women,  when  opportunity  was  not  to  be 
sought,  but  was  constant  and  perpetual,  I  could  never 
endure  the  thought  of  talking  to  any  one  in  the  same 
strain  that  I  have  talked  to  you,  whom  I  have  hardly 
known  three  weeks,  and  whom  I  have  only  conversed  with 
as  by  stealth. 

'  No,  my  dear  madam,  do  not  conceive  that  I  know 
myself  so  little  as  to  mistake  fancy  for  esteem,  and  liking 
for  attachment.  I  know  the  full  import  of  the  several 
terms,  and  should  abhor  myself  could  I  have  said  to  you 
what  I  have  said  while  there  remained  any  scope  for 
fickleness  or  caprice.  I  have  always  viewed  with  most 
unmixed  and  unqualified  detestation  that  wretch  who 
could  make  lavish  declarations  of  a  permanent  regard 
306 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

that  he  might  wantonly  indulge  the  frolic  of  his  vanity, 
or  give  vent  to  the  burden  of  a  hasty  tho1  oppressive 
feeling.  There  is  misery  enough  in  the  world  without 
studiously  devising  means  of  creating  it.  Do  not  then 
repeat  to  me  that  I  know  nothing  of  you,  and  that  I  may 
possibly  have  formed  an  erroneous  opinion  of  those 
qualities  which  now  attach  me  to  you.  You  are  she 
whom  my  imagination  has  formed,  when  it  has  been 
most  sanguine,  as  the  companion  of  my  days,  and  the 
partner  of  my  happiness.  Thus  was  I  acquainted  with 
you  before  I  had  seen  you,  and  to  you  I  had  waited 
for  the  first  introduction,  to  enter  at  once  into  the 
concerns  of  your  life  and  the  history  of  your  feelings. 
Count  therefore,  I  entreat  you,  on  my  affection  as  fixed 
and  constant,  the  offspring  of  reason  and  sentiment 
combined,  and  only  to  be  shaken  by  the  most  undeniable 
conviction  that  either  it  is  not  returned,  or  that  it  cannot 
be  gratified.' 

Here  the  writer  breaks  off  for  a  time,  but  the  reader 
knows  little  of  the  '  staying  powers '  of  an  eighteenth- 
century  correspondent  if  he  thinks  that  the  letter  nears 
a  conclusion.  Before  it  was  resumed,  however,  the  lovers 
had  had  a  private  interview,  and  Mr.  Tweddell  had 
explained  his  pecuniary  position  to  the  lady,  who 
apparently  held  out  small  hopes  that  her  father 
would  consent  to  the  match.  At  the  same  time  she 
gave  him  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  already  made 
a  decided  impression  on  her  heart.  Her  suitor  continues 
his  epistle  next  day,  July  30th,  in  a  decidedly  warmer 
strain. 

4  Thus  far,  my  sweet  friend,'  he  resumes,  *  I  had  written 
to  you  yesterday.  And  here  I  should  have  proceeded  to 
give  you  a  candid  statement  of  my  circumstances,  had  I 

307 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

not  sufficiently  explained  them  to  you  in  the  long  conver- 
sation that  I  enjoyed  with  you  last  night.  This  most 
melancholy  part  of  my  letter  I  am  therefore  spared; 
melancholy  no  otherwise  than  as  from  it  would  arise  the 
objections  of  your  father.  You  see  how  contracted  my 
present  income  is.  Yet  it  gave  me  comfort  to  find  that 
your  ideas  of  happiness  were  such  as  to  induce  you  to 
think  that  were  there  no  other  obstacle  you  could  live 
contented  upon  our  little  fortunes  united,  having  before 
us  the  prospect  of  a  comfortable  reversion.  According  to 
my  own  ideas  of  competency,  you  and  I  would  have  enough 
for  all  the  present  comforts  and  conveniences  of  life ;  and 
I  would  only  show  that  if,  in  the  natural  course  of  events, 
accident  should  multiply  our  family  wants,  this  contin- 
gency would  be  thus  provided  for.  I  am  more  and  more 
convinced  that  all  beyond  competence  contributes  little 
to  comfort,  and  that  one  may  have  a  competence  upon 
much  less  than  is  imagined.  It  has  always  been  perfectly 
inconsistent  with  my  sense  of  real  attachment  to  induce 
any  person  to  remove  from  a  scene  of  ease  and  plenty  to 
conflict  thro1  life  with  difficulties.  I  love  you  much 
too  well  to  wish  to  place  you  in  a  situation  where 
you  might  labour  under  the  pressure  of  embarrassments, 
or  where  you  might  cast  back  a  wishful  eye  upon  the 
neglected  opportunities  of  superior  comforts.  If  I  could 
ever  persuade  myself  that  the  mind  of  her  whom  I 
had  selected  was  fixed  on  things  which  were  above  my 
humble  reach,  and  which,  but  for  me,  she  might  have 
enjoyed,  I  should  feel  really  unhappy.  But  your  wishes, 
as  you  have  told  me,  are  moderate;  your  desires  are 
contracted.  Mine  are  so  too.  You  have  no  extrava- 
gances, nor  many  fictitious  wants — I  have  none  which 
are  not  those  of  perfect  and  mutual  comfort. 
308 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

'  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  appear  anywhere  to  reckon 
too  precipitately  upon  your  entertaining  an  equal  regard 
for  me.  I  do  not  believe  it,  nor  do  I  see  how  it  is 
possible.  But  the  favourable  opinion  at  least  which  you 
kindly  confessed  to  me  with  that  amiable  candour  which 
disdains  all  prudish  managements  and  affected  reserve, 
gives  me  everything  to  hope  from  a  longer  and  less  inter- 
rupted intimacy.  Yet  why,  or  what  should  I  hope? 
Your  father  measures  happiness  on  another  scale  of  things, 
and  wishes  you  to  move  in  a  higher  sphere.  Well  cal- 
culated you  are  indeed  to  decorate  any  situation,  to  be 
the  pride  of  any  and  every  condition.  But  would  you 
think  I  only  spoke  an  interested  language  if  I  said 
that  happiness  is  not  frequently  found  in  company 
with  grandeur  ?  You  would  not ;  for  I  believe  you 
think  so  yourself.  If  you  were  intended  to  be  allied 
to  opulence  only,  why  was  your  mind  so  cultivated  ? 
Why  have  its  powers  been  so  much  inured  to  distin- 
guish between  what  is  just  and  what  is  fashionable? 
Why  have  you  those  dispositions  towards  everything 
that  is  good  and  sensible,  if  you  are  to  be  planted  in 
a  situation  where  there  are  so  many  impediments  to 
their  exercise  ? 

'  Should  I  really  be  unfortunate  in  this  my  first  attach- 
ment ;  should  your  knowledge  of  your  father's  views  and 
opinions  convince  you  -without  question  and  beyond  the 
possibility  of  doubt  that  an  union  between  us  is  evidently 
impracticable ;  should  you  see  no  prospect,  no  rational  and 
sober  hope,  no  "  spot  of  azure  in  a  clouded  sky  " — then, 
my  dearest  and  best  affection,  accept  from  me  as  a  sincere 
friend  that  advice  I  could  have  no  occasion  to  give  in  the 
happier  character  I  would  aspire  to.  As  you  value  your 
own  precious  peace  of  mind,  never  let  any  inducement 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

under  heaven  tempt  you  to  become  the  wife  of  that  man 
whom  for  his  mental  and  his  moral  qualities  you  do  not 
love  above  every  other  being  in  the  world.  I  am  sure 
you  would  be  unhappy.  Pardon  the  presumption  of  one 
who  can  never  cease  to  esteem  and  love  you,  and  to  be 
interested  in  your  welfare,  tho<>  he  should  be  denied  the 
exalted  privilege  of  peculiarly  contributing  to  it.  Do  I 
not  seem  to  require  forgiveness  in  thinking  it  necessary 
thus  to  counsel  you?  I  know  your  goodness  and  your 
strictness  of  feeling.  But  even  the  best  and  the  strictest 
have  been  betrayed  into  a  sort  of  pious  sacrifice  by  a 
regard  to  the  unhappy  prejudices  of  ill-judging  friends. 
Be  not  you  so.  If  you  cannot  marry  to  make  yourself 
happy,  do  not,  to  make  others  conceive  themselves  happy, 
make  yourself  unquestionably  miserable.  For  on  this 
step  depends  happiness  or  misery.  There  is,  in  my  mind, 
no  mean.  I  must  either  love  to  the  excess  of  attachment 
or  loathe  almost  to  disgust.  I  have  the  warmest  and  the 
strongest  feelings  that  ever  inhabited  any  bosom,  for  the 
unhappiness,  I  fear,  of  the  possessor.  I  therefore  could 
never  endure  a  state  of  insipid  mediocrity.  Her  whom  I 
could  not  consider  in  everything  as  my  other  self,  to 
whom  I  could  not  disclose  every  sensation  of  my  heart, 
her  I  could  not  live  with.  Such  an  one  may  do  very 
well  to  dine  with  once  a  year  as  a  country  neighbour ; 
but  live  with  her  I  never  could  till  I  prefer  solitude  to 
indifference. 

'  This  is  the  advice  I  give  a  sister  for  whom  I  have  the 
fondest  affection,  and  to  whom,  for  the  same  reason  as 
to  you,  any  disappointment  in  so  serious  a  concern  would, 
I  am  sure,  be  productive  of  the  bitterest  affliction.  The 
same  generous  sensibilities  which,  if  tenderly  cherished, 
are  productive  of  the  most  refined  happiness,  are,  if 
310 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

rudely  discouraged  and  checked  in  their  operations,  the 
source  of  the  most  unqualified  sorrow.  Think,  my  dearest 
friend,  should  you  meet  a  man  who  received  your  kind- 
ness with  unconcern,  and  repaid  your  endearments  with 
indifference,  think  what  adequate  compensation  could 
you  derive  from  exterior  appendages  ?  I  know  you  feel 
on  this  topic  as  I  do,  and  therefore  all  I  say  upon  it 
may  appear  nugatory  and  useless.  But,  alas  !  I  feel  as 
tho1  I  were  taking  a  last  sorrowful  farewell  of  my  best 
beloved  friend.  And  I  cannot  part  without  mani- 
festing in  this  way  the  interest  I  take  in  what  may  here- 
after befall  her.  Would  to  God  that  this  presentiment 
may  prove  untrue — that  my  difficulties  maybe  conquered, 
and  my  fears  visionary.  Then  should  I  not  regret  my 
sleepless  hours,  and  my  anxious  and  troubled  reflections. 
But  how  may  this  be  ?  or  may  it  be  at  aii&  I  will  not 
despair — till  you  absolutely  command  me.  And  can  you 
bear  to  do  this  ?  Already,  when  alone,  I  am  half  distracted ! 
Write  to  me  immediately,  my  very  dear  friend,  write  and 
say  what  appears  to  you  most  expedient  for  us  both.  Is 
there  any  hope  for  me  ?  Consider  it  well.  I  have  grievous 
and  deadly  fears,  and  the  misery  of  that  day  when  you 
tell  me  finally  to  cease  to  love  you  will  require  an  age 
of  happiness  to  atone  for.  Then  shall  I  have  nothing 
left  but  to  regret  most  deeply  the  unhappy  circumstance 
of  having  first  met  you.  How  are  all  my  feelings  at 
war  with  each  other!  How  can  I  endure  to  express 
regret  at  having  seen  and  conversed  with  you  ?  How 
many  different  ways  I  am  pulled  by  the  conflict  of  reason 
and  passion  !  I  cherish  the  very  cause  of  my  distress, 
and  recall  with  melancholy  pleasure  that  first  conversa- 
tion which  is  the  source  of  all  my  present  anxiety.  Oh, 
Miss  Gunning,  my  best  friend,  how  weak  is  the  pride 

311 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

of  intellect,  how  sparing  and  feeble  are  the  resources 
which  we  derive  from  our  understanding!  I  ought, 
if  my  worst  forebodings  were  true,  to  shudder  at 
the  recollection  of  a  day  which  has  been  produc- 
tive of  so  much  pain  to  me.  Instead  of  that,  I  dote 
on  the  delicious  sufferings  which  I  experience  from 
a  terrible  suspense,  bordering  upon  a  still  more  terrible 
certainty. 

' 1  have  long  ago  arrived  at  the  conclusion  of  a  reason- 
able letter,  but  I  do  not  appear  to  have  advanced  one 
step.  I  know  not  how  to  stop,  nor  what  it  is  I  wish  to 
say  to  you.  You  leave  this  place  on  Tuesday.  What 
shall  I  do,  or  how  shall  I  feel  without  you  ?  I  cannot 
live  without  you  in  the  very  spot  where  I  have  doated 
on  you.  Few,  alas  !  are  the  opportunities  I  now  have  of 
being  with  you ;  but  when  I  cannot  talk  to  you,  I  am 
delighted  to  look  at  you.  Write  to  me  quickly,  I  beseech 
you,  and  use  no  reserve  whatever.  I  never  could  think 
of  you,  at  any  distance  of  time,  however  cool  or  phleg- 
matic I  may  become,  without  admiring  everything  I  have 
heard  you  say,  or  seen  you  do.  Never  have  you  been 
guilty  of  the  slightest  deviation:  from  the  strictest  pro- 
priety. Heaven  is  witness  of  the  sincerity  with  which  I 
say  that  no  accident  of  time  and  fortune,  nothing  but  a 
defect  of  my  mind  and  the  corruption  of  my  heart,  can 
ever  wring  from  me  a  thought  injurious  to  you.  I  can- 
not even  faintly  describe  that  kind  of  regard  which  I 
have  for  you.  In  you  is  comprised  everything  that  can 
excite  or  perpetuate  affection.  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  my 
dearest  of  friends,  let  me  see  as  much  of  you  as  I  can 
while  you  stay.  Even  if  it  should  be  found  necessary  to 
discontinue  our  acquaintance  hereafter  for  our  mutual 
peace  (which  yet  I  will  not  and  cannot  believe),  still 
312 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

consider  that  I  am  now  so  far  wretched  that  I  cannot  be 
more  so  from  continuing  to  talk  to  you.  What  thin 
partitions  divide  the  bounds  of  happiness  and  misery ! 
When  I  talk  with  you,  or  even  when  I  gaze  upon  you, 
I  am  happy,  in  spite  of  the  most  unpleasant  considera- 
tions; when  I  leave  you,  I  am  half  mad  and  distracted. 
You  went  to  bed  last  night,  and  I  into  the  supper-room. 
I  had  no  sooner  sat  down  than  I  was  compelled  to  come 
out  again.  The  people  wanted  to  eat,  and  I  to  think  ; 
so  I  am  come  up  into  my  bedroom,  but  think  I  cannot. 
I  fear  I  cannot  write  very  intelligibly.  I  am  sure  I  cannot 
sleep.  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  confess  how  weak,  and 
how  like  a  child,  I  passed  the  greater  part  of  that  long 
and  tedious  night.  I  am  forced  to  assume  cheerfulness 
when  I  come  downstairs — yet  I  detest  hypocrisy.  Oh, 
how  greatly  is  everything  in  this  world  in  favour  of  the 
unfeeling !  .  .  . 

'  There  is  one  thing  which  I  much  wish,  but  I  fear  to 
mention  it  to  you,  because,  as  you  do  not  feel  as  I  do, 
you  may  possibly  refuse  to  grant  me  so  great  an  indulg- 
ence. We  know,  as  you  have  said,  not  much  of  each 
other.  Will  you  then  permit  me  to  correspond  with  you 
for  one  year  at  least  from  this  time  ?  It  is,  I  fear,  pro- 
bable that  we  may  not  have  much  opportunity  of  meet- 
ing each  other ;  and  it  is  possible  also  that  you  may  not 
have  the  means  of  attaining  much  knowledge  of  my 
character.  ...  In  the  course  of  a  year  many  things  now 
unforeseen  may  happen  ;  and  if  no  prospect  should  open 
in  that  time,  I  could  not  then  in  reason  object  if  you 
judged  it  expedient  for  your  comfort  to  break  off  the 
intercourse.1  After  assuring  her  that  his  attachment 
can  never  suffer  abatement,  he  continues  :  <  It  is  no 
wonder  that  a  boyish  fancy  for  a  pretty  face  alone 

313 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

vanishes  with  the  face  itself.  But  you  know  that  my 
regard  is  of  a  very  different  complexion.  Certain  it  is, 
I  have  not  been  educated  in  the  school  of  Plato.  No 
one  can  be  more  sensible  of  the  power  of  beauty.  But 
this  is  not  "all  the  magic  you  have  used."  Before  I 
really  love,  mind  and  disposition  must  also  act  upon  me. 
.  .  .  Should  all  my  endeavours  to  be  happy  with  you 
vanish  into  air,  you  will  have  rendered  it  almost  impos- 
sible that  I  should  ever  attain  the  happiness  that  I 
before  counted  upon  with  any  other  woman.  For  /  am 
just  as  undeniably  convinced  of  this  truth  as  of  my  own 
existence — that  I  shall  never  behold  upon  this  earth  any 
woman  whom  I  shall  believe  so  much  created  and  born 
for  me  as  yourself.  I  shall,  /  am  positively  sure.,  institute 
a  comparison  to  the  disadvantage  of  every  other  female 
in  the  world.  .  .  ."* 

The  conclusion  of  this  letter  is  lost,  if  it  ever  was  con- 
cluded, which  one  is  inclined  to  doubt.  Its  pleadings 
were  so  far  successful  that  Miss  Gunning  consented  to 
carry  on  a  secret  correspondence  with  her  lover.  From 
the  specimen  of  Mr.  TweddelPs  epistolary  powers  that 
has  already  been  given,  it  seems  probable  that  he  wrote 
his  lady  a  double  letter  every  day  ;  but  the  next  that  has 
been  preserved  is  dated  September  25th,  and  was  written 
from  the  young  man's  home  at  Threepwood,  near  Hex- 
ham.  He  begins  by  apologising  to  his  '  ever  dear  friend ' 
for  his  last  letter,  '  which  contained  many  absurd  things 
written  under  the  immediate  impulse  of  violent  feelings. ' 
Can  it  be  that  he  had  so  far  forgotten  himself  as  to 
substitute  the  word  4  love '  for '  regard '  or  '  attachment '  ? 
However  that  may  be,  he  expresses  his  desire  to  converse 
with  her  in  a  calmer,  more  rational  spirit,  and  in  pursu- 
ance of  this  object  sends  her  a  list  of  books  which  she  had 
314 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

asked  him  to  recommend  to  her.  John  Tweddell,  though 
in  most  respects  a  true  child  of  his  age,  was  as  regards 
his  opinions  on  the  *  woman  question '  distinctly  in  advance 
of  his  contemporaries.  They,  as  has  been  observed, 
valued  '  good  sense  '  in  a  woman,  but  held  that  she  had 
no  business  with  learning.  Tweddell,  in  more  than  one 
of  his  letters,  strongly  condemns  this  prejudice,  and  he 
certainly  had  the  courage  of  his  opinions ;  for  from  time 
to  time  he  sends  his  '  dearest  friend  '  a  list  of  books,  the 
assimilation  of  which  would  test  the  mental  digestion  of 
a  strong  man. 

Miss  Gunning  was  apparently  engaged  in  reading 
Locke  on  the  Understanding,  and  her  lover  recommends 
her  to  read  the  same  author's  essay  on  the  Conduct  of 
the  Understanding,  but  not  to  rely  too  confidently  on 
what  he  says  of  power  and  will,  liberty,  and  necessity. 
He  proceeds  to  recommend  her  Search's  l  Light  of  Nature 
Pursued,  Home  Tooke's  Diversions  of  Purley,  which  he 
describes  as  '  the  only  true  system  of  grammar ,'  Millar's 
History  of  the  English  Constitution  2  (which  she  is  not 
to  be  alarmed  at  because  it  is  dedicated  to  Charles  Fox), 
the  Abbe  Millet's  Elements  of  Modern  History,  Formey's 
work  on  Ecclesiastical  History, z  and  Bacon's  Essays,  which, 
he  observes,  '  if  you  have  not  read  them,  will  be  a  copious 
source  of  information.  I  delight  in  everything  that  great 
man  ever  wrote.  But  neither  his  Life  of  Henry  VII. 
nor  his  Advancement  of  Learning  are  more  fraught  with 
everything  that  characterises  pre-eminent  powers  of  mind 

1  Search  was  the  pseudonym  of  Abraham  Tucker  (1705-1774). 

2  John  Millar's  (1735-1801)  Historical  View  of  the  English  Government 
appeared  in  1787. 

3  Formey's  work  was  translated  from  the  French,  and  published  in 
1766. 

315 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

than  his  general  essays.  At  the  same  time  that  his 
sentiments  are  most  commanding  from  their  wisdom,  his 
expressions,  equally  original,  are  most  cogent  and 
brilliant.  His  forecast  is  almost  supernatural.  In  his 
works  you  see  carelessly  scattered  the  elements  of  almost 
all  future  discoveries.  Many  things  that  Newton  himself 
afterwards  unveiled,  seem  to  have  been  in  part  foreknown 
to  Bacon,  tho"1  his  mind  did  not  pause  to  undertake 
their  intricate  evolutions.  .  .  . 

*  Those  books  I  have  recommended  that  you  have  not 
read,  I  wish,  my  beloved  friend,  that  you  and  I  could 
peruse  together.  How  I  should  delight  in  our  minds  thus 
travelling  through  such  pleasing  and  fruitful  regions  !  I 
believe  we  should  each  of  us  profit  by  the  other's  remarks. 
I  am  sure  I  should  by  yours.  This  is  a  mode  of  reading 
to  which  I  am  very  partial ;  and  when  I  am  in  town,  I 
communicate  the  substance  of  everything  I  read  to  a 
very  dear  friend  of  mine,  with  whom  I  am  in  the  habit 
of  daily  intercourse,  and  from  whose  superior  mind  I 
constantly  derive  important  benefit..  He  pursues  the 
same  plan  towards  me,  and  thus  is  the  extent  of  our 
respective  studies,  exclusive  of  their  improved  ad- 
vantage, doubled  to  each  of  us.  From  these  collisions 
of  reason  truth  is  most  likely  to  be  struck  out ;  and 
we  are  not  so  apt  to  be  led  away  by  the  authority 
of  great  names  when  the  subjects  they  treat  of,  and 
the  opinions  they  advance,  are  subsequently  investigated, 
stripped  of  the  persuasion  of  style  and  the  graces  of 
diction.1 

In  a  previous  letter  Miss  Gunning,  it  would  seem,  had 

laid  before  her  lover  certain  scruples  relating  to  their 

correspondence,  and  more  especially  to  the  secrecy  with 

which  it  was  carried  on.     She  could  not  have  done  him  a 

316 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

greater  kindness,  judging  from  the  enthusiasm  with  which 
he  plunges  into  the  argument.  'And  now,  my  dear 
friend,'  he  continues,  having  concluded  his  catalogue  of 
books,  'I  must  recur  to  the  main  subject  of  your  letter. 
I  hope  you  would  not  conceive  that  I  meant  to  treat  your 
reasoning  with  disrespect,  because  I  briefly  replied  to  it 
that  it  was  not  convincing.  Your  whole  argument  hinges 
upon  your  aversion  to  conceal  our  intercourse  from  your 
father  till  a  favourable  moment  may  occur  for  revealing 
it,  and  you  are  willing  to  persuade  yourself  that  in  so 
concealing  it  you  would  act  morally  wrong.  If,  indeed, 
you  are  absolutely  wedded  to  this  notion,  I  would  not 
wish  to  weaken  your  good  opinion  of  me  by  advising  you 
to  act  in  opposition  to  it.  But  that  you  should  be  so 
after  serious  reflection  would,  I  assure  you,  not  more 
afflict  than  it  would  surprise  me.  You  say,  "  Consider  it 
well  yourself  as  an  abstract  question,  which  does  not 
particularly  relate  to  either  of  us ;  and  then  tell  me  if 
you  wish  me  to  do  that  which  you  would  be  obliged  to 
confess  was  wrong."  Most  certainly  I  do  not  wish  you, 
I  will  never  persuade  you,  to  do  anything  which  I  think 
wrong.  But  I  give  you  my  honour  that  is  not  the  case 
here.  I  know  of  no  duty,  nor  can  divine  any,  which 
obliges  an  unmarried  woman  to  disclose  every  action  of 
her  life  to  her  parent.  It  is  possible  (and  I  am  now 
assuming  a  very  whimsical  hypothesis)  that  some  parents 
might  expect  such  a  thing.  But  am  I  therefore  obliged 
to  gratify  every  strange  expectation  ?  And  shall  it  be 
said  that  I  deceive  the  person  who  entertains  it  ?  In  such 
a  case  it  is  not  I  who  deceive  him ;  he  deceives  himself. 
As  well  might  that  person  accuse  me  of  a  trespass  upon 
morality  who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  the  belief  that  I 
should  kill  myself.  Shall  I  fulfil  his  expectations,  or 

317 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

have  I  not  a  previous  obligation  to  myself  to  disappoint 
them  ?  If,  indeed,  I  privately  commit  any  action  which 
is  in  itself  improper,  then  I  may  justly  be  said  to  deceive 
those  friends  who  had  a  reasonable  ground  for  contrary 
expectation.  But  against  whom  is  the  offence  com- 
mitted? Against  those  friends?  Surely  not.  The 
offence  is  committed  against  that  Being  whose  laws 
imposed  a  prior  obligation  to  an  opposite  conduct — which 
laws  are  obligatory  on  man  because  they  are  conducive 
to  his  happiness. 

'  Indeed,  I  never  heard  of  any  duty  of  the  nature  which 
you  speak  of,  and  you  know  very  well  that  were  you 
"considering  this  as  an  abstract  question,"  you  could 
find  no  argument  in  Mr.  Paley,  nor  any  other  moralist 
that  ever  wrote,  capable  of  convincing  you  that  any  such 
duty  could  in  reality  ever  have  existed.  Religion  is  a 
good  thing,  and  morality  is  a  good  thing ;  but  as  in  the 
first  case  we  are  not  more  religious  for  carrying  our 
religion  to  enthusiasm,  so  neither  in  the  second  are  we 
more  moral  for  refining  too  far  upon  morality.  Those 
duties  which  are  real  and  substantial  are  sufficiently 
defined,  and  abundantly  adequate  to  guide  and  direct  us 
to  the  end  which  they  propose,  without  our  industriously 
framing  new  ones  which  may  be  false,  and  must  be 
superfluous.  Yet  I  love  you  still  better,  my  amiable 
friend,  for  acting  as  you  have  done  under  such  an  impres- 
sion, and  no  one  could  possibly  have  argued  better  in 
such  a  cause,  or  have  acted  more  nobly  and  ingenuously. 
What  an  uneasy  fate  is  mine/to  be  compelled  to  admire 
you  in  proportion  to  the  pain  you  give  me !  But  I  am 
sure,  if  you  reflect  on  this  subject  again,  you  cannot 
retain  the  same  opinion.  You  are  as  capable  of  judging 
for  yourself  as  any  human  being  can  possibly  be.  You 
318 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

are  equally  entitled,  and  equally  obligated,  with  every 
other  human  being,  to  act  for  yourself  in  those  things 
which  concern  your  own  happiness,  without  participat- 
ing your  design  unless  you  deem  it  expedient.  Our  in- 
tercourse is  at  least  very  innocent,  and  may  be  very 
fortunate.1 

This  mode  of  reasoning  was,  of  course,  rank  heresy  in 
1794;  but  the  daughter's  instinctive  objection  to  deceiv- 
ing her  father  by  carrying  on  a  secret  correspondence  of 
which  she  knew  that  he  would  disapprove,  at  the  same 
time  that  she  was  living  under  his  roof  in  professed 
obedience  to  his  laws,  was  swept  away  by  her  lover's 
fluent  casuistry.  In  combating  the  lady's  second  scruple, 
Mr.  Tweddell  displays  himself  and  his  logic  in  a  better 
light. 

'  Your  other  objection  is,1  he  admits,  '  of  more  weight, 
and  it  is  very  well  and  properly  stated  by  you.  You 
conclude  that  by  continuing  our  acquaintance  for  a 
certain  period  we  should  become  more  attached  to  each 
other ;  and  that  if  it  should  then  be  found  absolutely 
necessary  for  us  to  break  off  all  connection,  we  may  thus 
be  rendered  very  miserable.  Here  there  is  a  question  of 
your  feelings  and  my  own.  As  far  as  my  own  are 
concerned,  you  will  allow  me  to  judge  for  myself;  I  do  not 
mean  to  let  a  warm  heart  check  the  reasoning  of  a  cool 
head.  I  therefore  deliberately  protest  to  you  that,  so  far 
as  I  consider  myself,  I  am  at  this  very  moment  arrived 
at  that  degree  of  affection  for  you  that  if  our  intercourse 
must  cease,  all  periods  are  nearly  alike  to  me.  If  you 
could  only  know  what  kind  of  affection  that  is,  how 
little  it  partakes  of  any  momentary  turbulence,  how 
little  it  resembles  the  flourish  of  a  youthful  fancy, 
you  would  never  again  believe  that  it  may  be  founded 

319 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

on  a  trivial  knowledge  of  your  character.  My  regard  for 
you  is  at  once  so  strong  and  so  delicate,  so  tempered  and 
chastised  by  reflection  and  esteem,  that  if,  knowing  its 
nature,  you  could  ever  doubt  either  of  its  reason  or  con- 
tinuance, if  you  could  persuade  yourself  of  the  possibility 
that  any  little  increase  it  may  yet  admit,  would  make  any 
material  variation  of  distress,  in  case  of  its  being  inter- 
rupted, then  my  heart  must,  in  your  idea,  be  made  of 
such  perishable  stuff,  that  you  would  do  well  without 
further  thought  to  abandon  it  for  ever.  .  .  S 

After  defending  the  suddenness  of  his  passion  on  the 
grounds  of  his  lady's  surpassing  qualities  and  merits,  and 
assuring  her  that  her  manners,  address,  understanding, 
and  principles,  her  mental  and  personal  endowments  of 
every  kind,  are  a  source  of  inexpressible  delight  to  him, 
the  writer  proceeds  : — 

'  How  comes  it  if  you  take  me  for  such  a  paltry  machine, 
as  only  fit  to  be  acted  upon  by  meaner  influences,  that 
I  was  never  in  love  before  ?  You  cannot  know  this,  but 
as  I  assure  you  of  it,  you  will  believe  me.  I  have  certainly 
seen  and  intimately  known  many  young  women  who  had 
every  charm  that  can  flow  from  mere  beauty,  and  from 
manners  too — never,  I  confess,  so  pure  and  cultivated  as 
yours — but  yet  pleasing  and  agreeable,  and  such  as  the 
world  is  content  to  flatter  and  admire.  But  the  truth  is, 
I  am  rather  a  critical  and  jealous  observer  of  those  things, 
and  I  always  found  some  deficiency  which  either  impaired 
the  effect  of  exterior  graces,  or  which  exterior  graces 
could  not  supply.  But  still  I  could  mention  some  of  these 
women  who  had  a  competent  portion  of  sense  and  virtue. 
But  they  were  not  like  you,  and  therefore  I  could  not  love 
them.  Never  till  I  saw  you  had  I  seen  a  woman  into  whose 
keeping  I  dared  to  confide  my  happiness ;  and  Nature 
320 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

is  far  too  penurious  of  her  good  gifts  that  I  should  ever 
hope  to  meet  again  with  one  who  resembles  you.  Do  not 
then  tell  me  again  you  were  always  surprised  that  I  could 
so  suddenly  conceive  so  powerful  a  regard  for  you.  We 
may  be  employed  many  days  in  detecting  the  excellences 
of  Mr.  West,  but  an  hour  is  sufficient  to  display  the 
merits  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  or  Michael  Angelo.  I 
only  wish  to  assure  you  by  what  I  have  said  that  my 
present  affection  for  you  is  not  produced  by  the  "  fervour 
of  an  ardent  imagination,"  but  that  it  really  is  such  as 
you  describe,  that  which  you  could  wish  the  man  you 
love  to  bear  for  you.  .  .  .' 

Having  repeated  that  it  is  for  his  own  happiness  to 
continue  the  intimacy,  end  how  it  may,  he  concludes : 
4  But  I  will  say  no  more  upon  what  I  feel  advisable  for 
myself.  As  this  is  a  question  of  your  feelings  as  well  as 
mine,  it  becomes  me  to  consider  yours ;  and  this  con- 
sideration is,  after  all,  the  only  one.  It  is  impossible  that 
I  can  here  speak  at  all  decisively.  I  can  only  reason  of 
your  feelings  by  analogy  from  my  own.  What  is  not 
analogy  would  be  bare  conjecture.  In  short,  this  part  of 
the  subject  must  remain  with  you.  You  only  must 
determine  for  us  both.  If  you  have  firmly  persuaded 
yourself  that  your  intimacy  with  me  will  render  you 
miserable,  that  for  the  difficulties  we  may  possibly  have 
to  encounter  you  shall  receive  no  recompense  in  my 
continued  friendship  and  affection,  you  have  then  imposed 
an  eternal  silence  upon  me.  My  doom  is  sealed,  for  I 
cannot  invade  your  peace.  I  may  be  convinced  of  the 
contrary,  and  may  lament  your  hasty  determination. 
But  your  happiness  is  as  dear  to  me  as  my  own,  and  if  I 
cannot  comfort,  I  will  not  torment  you.  No,  my  dearest 
love,  you  shall  never  be  able  to  say  that  you  have  shed 
x  321 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

one  tear  for  me  that  I  might  have  prevented.  If  you  are 
convinced  that  I  shall  make  you  unhappy,  let  us  part  for 
ever.  God,  I  trust,  will  give  me  strength  to  bear  up 
against  all  inevitable  afflictions,  and  so  to  His  benevolence 
I  commit  my  hopes.  ...  If  what  I  have  said  can  make 
no  impression  on  you,  I  must  submit  to  despair.  The 
advice  you  gave  me  was,  "  Consider  well  all  I  have  said  to 
you,  and  then  tell  me  what  you  think  advisable  for  us ; 
but  let  your  opinion  be  the  result  of  deliberation,  and 
such  as  it  becomes  you  to  give  and  me  to  receive."  That 
advice  I  have  followed  to  the  best  of  my  ability — and  so 
farewell.  "Think  of  me  as  I  am."  Consider  all  my 
conduct,  and  approve  of  it,  I  beseech  you,  when  you  can. 
You  will  find  that  I  have  been  oftentimes  foolish,  some- 
times inconsistent,  and  once,  perhaps,  rather  petulant,  in 
what  I  have  on  different  occasions  addressed  to  you. 
But  remember  how  violently  I  have  loved  you  ;  and  when 
you  can  find  no  other  excuse  for  my  weakness,  attribute 
it  to  that. 

'  Read  once  more  what  I  have  written  to  you  at  different 
times,  and  then  write  to  me.  You  have  never  read  my  letters 
more  than  once :  I  have  read  yours  fifty  times.  If  you 
forbid  me  to  reply,  depend  upon  it,  I  will  not.  Yet,  lest 
anything  very  important  should  occur,  tell  me  in  that 
case  how  I  should  direct  to  you.  But  let  me  write  to 
you  if  you  can,  and  at  all  events  write  to  me  in  answer  to 
this  letter — and  be  minute,  not  distant  and  reserved. 
Recollect  that  upon  your  conduct  depends  the  happiness 
of  one  who,  however  unworthy  of  your  love,  is  not  un- 
deserving of  your  pity.  For  he  would  now  have  been 
happy  had  he  never  met  you. 

'  And  now  I  have  only  one  more  request  to  make  of  you, 
and  that  is,  that  you  will  never  let  us  part,  if  we  ever 
322 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

must  part,  without  a  last  interview.  You  promised  me 
that  we  should  meet  in  town,  at  a  moment  when,  perhaps, 
you  did  not  see  quite  so  clearly  the  objections  to  our 
intercourse.  Tell  me  when  you  mean  to  return  to  town, 
and  promise  that  you  will  never  agree  to  separate  from 
me  without  a  meeting.  I  hope  you  will  grant  more  than 
this.  But  this  you  certainly  will  not  deny  me.  My 
dear  friend,  do  not  break  my  heart  if  you  can  help  it. 
God  for  ever  bless  you,  and  make  you  happy.  J.  T.' 


PART    II 

IN  spite  of  Miss  Gunning's  doubts  and  scruples,  the 
secret  correspondence  continued  to  flourish ;  and  after 
Mr.  Tweddell's  return  to  town  he  writes  a  long  epistle, 
only  by  courtesy  a  love-letter,  detailing  his  political 
opinions.  It  is  evident  that  Isabella  was  afraid  that  her 
lover's  '  views '  would  find  as  little  favour  in  her  father's 
eyes  as  his  limited  income.  If  John  Tweddell  had  lived 
in  these  days  he  would  have  called  himself  a  Radical ;  in 
1794  he  seems  to  have  been  a  more  or  less  independent 
follower  of  Fox,  that  '  friend  of  the  people '  who  was 
widely  regarded  as  the  enemy  of  his  country.  The 
horrors  of  the  French  Revolution  were  still  fresh  in 
men's  minds,  and  the  words  '  liberty  'and  '  equality '  were 
thought  to  spell  blood  and  anarchy.  To  the  old- 
fashioned  Tory,  the  man  who  held  progressive  views  in 
politics,  or  on  social  questions,  was  the  man  who  yearned 
to  set  up  a  guillotine  at  Charing  Cross,  and  to  line  the 
streets  with  the  heads  of  aristocrats.  Hence  Isabel  writes 
to  reassure  herself  on  the  subject  of  her  lover's  opinions, 
and  to  ask  what  part  he  would  take  should  'disturb- 
ances '  arise. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

'My  dear  friend1  (he  replies),  'I  am  delighted  with 
your  last  letter.  I  cannot  describe  the  satisfaction  which 
I  feel  upon  seeing  more  and  more  how  closely  and  inti- 
mately our  sentiments  are  allied  upon  almost  all  subjects. 
I  would  not  reply  so  soon,  having  at  present  very  insuffi- 
cient time  to  write  at  such  length  as  I  could  wish,  were  it 
not  that  I  believe  it  gives  you  pleasure  to  have  the  earliest 
assurance  that  your  letter  is  destroyed.  I  can  supply 
what  I  should  wish  to  add  in  a  day  or  two.  For  you  and 
I,  my  best  friend,  will  not  observe  the  forms  of  exact 
reciprocity.  Keep  only  in  mind  that  the  oftener  I  hear 
from  you,  the  more  happy  I  shall  be.  .  .  .  Should  my 
letters  ever  give  you  nearly  the  same  pleasure,  you  will 
then  have  a  sensation  that  will  remind  you  more  effectu- 
ally than  anything  else  to  converse  with  me  constantly. 

'  In  this  letter  I  will  answer  your  questions  respecting 
my  political  opinions.  To  represent  these  to  you  with 
every  particularity  in  all  their  divisions  and  subdivisions, 
would  be  to  write  you  a  volume.  Of  course  you  expect 
me,  by  letter,  merely  to  give  you  their  general  complexion, 
which  I  will  do  as  fully  and  sincerely  as  you  wish.  I  need 
not  prepare  this  avowal  of  my  political  faith  by  desiring 
you,  as  I  should  most  others,  to  shun  a  habit  very  com- 
mon in  these  days,  of  imputing  more  than  is  confessed. 
People  in  general  have  no  conception  of  an  interval  lying 
between  extremes.  This  seems  very  absurd,  but  it  is  not 
the  less  true.  It  is  naturally  and  easily  to  be  explained. 
The  nation  is  at  present  divided  into  two  parties,  each  of 
which  maintains  with  considerable  vehemence  the  pro- 
priety of  the  part  they  are  severally  acting.  The  greater 
number  of  those  who  compose  them  both  are  either  the 
slaves  of  interest  or  the  creatures  of  prejudice.  The  con- 
duct of  the  former  is  readily  accounted  for;  and  it  is 
324 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

a  sufficient  cause  for  the  latter  to  be  furiously  addicted  to 
either  party,  that  they  are  ill  disposed  to  consider,  or 
incapable  to  appreciate,  the  merits  of  both.  So  soon, 
therefore,  as  any  one  avows  sentiments  in  favour  of 
liberty,  for  instance,  it  is  immediately  concluded  that  his 
opinions  extend  to  the  widest  reach  of  the  widest  theory 
upon  that  subject.  Should  he  approve  of  a  uniform 
opposition  to  the  present  war,  he  is  a  Jacobin.  Should  he 
hazard  an  opinion  that  the  French  resources  are  in- 
exhaustible, he  is  a  cut-throat,  etc.  etc.  etc.  But,  above 
all,  it  is  usual  to  confound  speculative  opinions  with  the 
intention  of  practical  assertion — two  things,  in  fact,  as 
wide  from  each  other  as  the  polar  distances,  and  yet  most 
uniformly  and  intentionally  substituted  for  each  other. 

'  I  will  not,  I  say,  caution  you  against  this  habit  of 
judgment  in  political  matters.  Your  candour,  in  the 
first  place,  removes  from  me  this  necessity ;  and,  in  the 
next  place,  your  powers  of  reasonable  and  just  distinction. 
You  must  not  form  your  opinions  upon  what  the  British 
Critic l  says  of  my  principles.  All  that  it  says  about  the 
introduction  to  my  essay  on  Liberty  is  true,  for  it  is 
a  mere  translation  of  it.  But  when  it  accuses  me  of 
going  to  the  extent  of  Mr.  Paine's  principles,  it  is  at 
least  mistaken;  and,  if  you  observe,  it  does  not  point  out 
the  particular  passage  to  which  it  alludes  (I  think  it  only 
mentions  one  such).  The  British  Critic  is  professedly  a 
ministerial  review,  and  is  not  always  very  nice  in  its 
manner  of  condemning  opposite  opinions,  being  accus- 
tomed to  deal  in  imputation  more  than  refutation.  I  do 
not,  however,  accuse  it  of  any  injustice  to  me,  except  in 
that  one  assertion.  The  only  violent  passages  that  I 
recollect  in  my  essay  are  against  Burke  and  the  partition 
1  In  the  review  of  his  prize  essays. 

325 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

of  Poland.  Neither  can  I  call  to  mind  any  opinions 
which  I  there  advanced  that  I  could  wish  to  retract  now. 
I  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  you  could  read  it.  I  think 
it  would  not  frighten  you. 

'  These  are  my  general  principles.  I  am,  and  shall,  I 
trust,  ever  remain  a  most  firm  and  zealous  advocate  for 
the  enjoyment  of  as  much  liberty  as  the  present  imperfect 
state  of  the  human  mind  can  admit  of,  compatibly  with 
good  order.  But  I  never  carry  any  theory  so  far  (tho' 
it  is  very  common  with  reformers)  as  to  exclude  the  con- 
sideration of  that  first  principle  of  human  infirmity.  I 
believe  most  confidently  that  the  state  of  society  will 
improve  ;  and  that  as  men  grow  more  generally  wise,  and 
more  equally  informed,  they  will  grow  better,  and  that 
as  they  grow  better  the  reins  of  coercion  ought  to  be 
proportionately  relaxed.  But  the  time  is  not  yet  arrived 
when  these  principles  can  be  followed  to  their  fullest 
extent  with  safety.  So,  also,  I  prefer  a  republican  form 
of  government  to  a  kingly.  Even  in  the  present  state 
of  things  I  prefer  this,  and  so  far  I  am  certainly  a  re- 
publican. But  then  I  make  a  material  distinction  between 
establishing  a  government  de  novo,  and  destroying  one 
that  is  at  present  established,  for  the  purpose  of  substi- 
tuting another  in  its  place.  I  think  it  must  be  an 
extreme  necessity  that  can  j  ustify  the  latter  measure.  If, 
therefore,  I  were  to  legislate  for  a  country  that  is  at 
present  forming  a  government,  as  we  lately  did  for 
Canada,  I  would  unquestionably  vote  for  a  republican 
form  ;  but  I  would  not  agree  to  encounter  a  certain  and 
present  evil,  thro"1  the  medium  of  a  favourite  theory, 
for  the  sake  of  a  precarious  and  distant  good.  In  other 
words,  I  can  never  consent,  with  many  speculists  on 
government,  to  put  out  of  the  calculation  all  regard  for 
326 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

the  comfort  and  peace  of  the  present  generation.  And 
so  far  I  am  not  a  republican.  But  all  republicans  are 
classed  under  one  general  denomination,  while  in  effect, 
you  see,  their  principles  and  objects  are  very  distinct. 

'  For  my  own  part,  I  should  be  thoroughly  content  with 
such  a  reform  in  Parliament  as  might  secure  the  people 
against  the  dangerous  and  increasing  extent  of  the 
present  corruption,  which  would  give  them  the  power 
of  speaking  their  own  sentiments,  and  thereby  diminish 
the  frequency  of  wars,  that  severest  scourge  with  which 
offended  heaven  chastens  the  indulgence  of  criminal 
ambition.  I  would  put  it  out  of  the  power  of  any 
minister  to  bribe  a  representative  to  part  with  the  money 
of  his  constituents  for  a  share  in  the  common  plunder. 
No  pensioner  or  placeman  should  sit  in  the  house. 
Apparently,  therefore,  there  would  be  no  unworthy 
influence — and  really  there  could  be  none  when  the 
election  of  parliaments  was  rendered  so  frequent  as  to 
make  it  impossible  for  any  funds  of  corruption  to  be  so 
extensive  as  to  furnish  bribes  which  must  be  constantly 
repeated  every  year,  instead  of  one  year  in  seven.  I 
believe  you  will  see  nothing  unreasonable  in  this  ;  and 
even  if  you  did,  I  could  not  promise  you  any  probability 
of  change  in  my  own  sentiments.  Those  opinions  which 
I  now  hold  upon  this  subject  seem  to  me  so  utterly 
undeniable,  and  not  only  so  safe  in  practice,  but  so 
utterly  unsafe  to  be  neglected,  that  I  feel  it  an  absolute 
obligation  incumbent  upon  me  as  an  honest  man  to 
endeavour  to  realise  them  by  all  peaceable  means  in  my 
power.  .  .  . 

4  As  to  my  party  attachments,  I  can  assure  you  that  in 
the  usual  acceptation  of  the  term  I  have  none.  I  ap- 
prove of  the  sentiments  of  one  party  because  they  agree 

327 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

with  my  own,  and  so  long  I  shall  continue  to  approve 
of  them.  I  do  not  deny  that  I  have  a  personal  attach- 
ment to  certain  members  of  that  party — more  particu- 
larly perhaps  to  Mr.  Grey.  I  am  acquainted  with  almost 
all  the  leading  men  in  opposition,  and  I  like  many  others 
of  them.  But  be  assured  of  this,  that  should  they  ever 
desert  the  principles  on  which  I  coincide  with  them, 
respecting  reform  more  particularly,  all  my  attachment 
is  immediately  gone.  It  is  absolutely  impossible  for 
me,  while  I  retain  my  present  sentiments  of  right  and 
wrong,  ever  to  be  unconditionally  bound  to  any  set  of 
men  upon  the  earth.  So  long  as  they  continue  that  line 
of  conduct  which  is  honest  and  consistent,  so  long  do  I 
feel  a  regard  for,  and  a  common  interest  with,  them — 
but  no  longer — not  a  minute.  They  have  not,  nor  can 
they  ever  have,  any  inducements  to  hold  out  to  me, 
should  they  think  it  worth  their  while  to  attempt  it, 
possessing  sufficient  force  to  make  me  swerve  from  my 
present  unalterable  conviction.  .  .  . 

'  What  you  mean  by  taking  an  active  part,  perhaps  I 
do  not  exactly  understand.  Do  you  mean  the  coming 
into  Parliament  ?  If  so,  I  will  tell  you  the  precise  state 
of  my  mind  upon  that  subject.  There  was  a  time  when 
this  was  the  first  object  of  my  ambition.  I  then  feared 
it  was  unattainable.  I  knew  very  well  that  I  should 
never  be  enabled  by  my  hereditary  fortune  to  afford  to 
seat  myself  in  the  honourable  house ;  and  I  had  not,  at 
that  time,  formed  any  connection  by  whose  means  I 
might  expect  to  arrive  at  it.  Things  now  stand  other- 
wise. I  think  it  not  improbable  that  such  an  offer  may 
be  made  to  me.  But  my  ambition  is  greatly  on  the 
wane.  It  has  been  declining  in  proportion  as  the  means 
of  attaining  it  have  advanced.  I  see  more  clearly  every 
328 


day  of  my  life  the  folly  of  building  happiness  on  such 
trifles  as  the  sally  of  a  successful  speech — and  the  name 
of  an  orator.  This  supposes  you  succeed  to  your  wishes. 
We  all  of  us  have  a  tolerably  good  opinion  of  ourselves, 
and  we  are  often  deceived  by  it.  Suppose,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  disappointment.  What  should  I  have  gained  ? 
The  privilege  of  franking,  and  a  silent  vote.  I  would 
just  as  soon  be  a  candle-snuffer. 

'  But  even  counting  very  sanguinely  on  my  hopes  of 
success,  as  perhaps,  to  speak  ingenuously  to  my  best 
friend,  I  am  too  willing  to  do,  yet  even  then  I  have  lost 
much  of  my  relish  for  such  dainty  food,  and  am  more 
and  more  reconciling  my  palate  to  a  more  homely  diet. 
I  am  not  insensible  to  flattery,  I  know  very  well.  Perhaps 
I  have  received  it  in  too  great  abundance  to  be  entirely 
unhurt  by  its  poison.  But  I  am  sure  of  this,  that  at 
least  it  has  not  so  far  corrupted  me  as  to  make  me 
insensible  to  my  imperfections,  which  I  daily  feel,  or  to 
make  me  believe  the  sincerity  of  every  one  who  speaks 
me  fair.  Besides,  I  really  find  that  praise  conduces  very 
little  to  happiness.  Who  would  consent  to  live  amidst 
the  tempests  of  the  mountains  to  whom  the  valley  offered 
tranquillity  and  peace  ?  ...  In  consequence  of  these 
feelings  and  some  others,  I  doubt  very  much  whether 
I  would  accept  of  a  seat  in  Parliament,  were  it  offered 
to  me  ;  and  in  addition  to  that,  I  much  doubt  whether 
any  man  would  be  mightily  inclined  to  offer  it  to  me 
upon  those  conditions  upon  which  alone  I  would  accept 
it.  I  would  not  represent  a  borough  without  expressly 
stipulating  for  the  permission  to  vote  for  the  extinction 
of  all  boroughs  whenever  the  question  of  reform  should 
involve  such  a  clause ;  and  no  plan  of  reform  would  be 
worth  a  farthing  without  such  an  one.  I  would  be  at 

329 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

liberty  to  deviate  as  often  and  as  widely  as  I  pleased 
upon  any  question,  just  according  to  my  own  opinion  in 
all  cases,  never  considering  the  wishes  or  ideas  of  those 
who  brought  me  in.  In  short,  I  would  be  entirely  inde- 
pendent, for  I  never  will  be  otherwise  with  my  own 
consent.  Now  let  me  assure  you  that  there  are  very  few 
persons  who  would  have  the  liberality  to  bring  a  man 
into  Parliament  upon  such  conditions.  And  I  also 
assure  you  that  I  will  never  sit  there  on  any  other,  if  I 
should  sit  at  all.  But  my  mind  at  present  is  a  good  deal 
alienated  from  that  kind  of  ambition,  and  the  instance 
of  any  friend  whom  I  loved  might  detach  me  entirely 
from  all  thought  or  intention  of  it.  ... 

1 1  will  own  to  you,  my  dearest  friend,  that  I  had  a  good 
deal  more  ambition  than  I  now  feel,  even  so  late  as  last 
July.  I  will  confess  that  a  great  deal  of  my  present 
indifference  may  very  possibly  be  the  result  of  some  new 
feelings  of  which  I  was  at  that  time  ignorant.  .  .  . 
You,  my  dear  friend,  have  certainly  had  no  incon- 
siderable share  in  reforming  many  things  which  were 
wrong  in  me.  You  cannot  judge  of  this  yourself,  because 
you  never  saw  me  under  the  dominion  of  my  worse  habits. 
I  am  not  afraid  to  confess  this  to  you.  You  do  not 
expect  perfection  in  any  one :  I  am  far  from  it.  I  used 
to  be  peevish  and  petulant,  apt  to  be  suddenly  provoked, 
and  rather  quarrelsome,  irritable  upon  almost  all  subjects, 
and  impatient  of  contradiction.  To  be  sure,  I  was  then 
very  nervous;  and  whatever  struck  rapidly  and  with 
surprise  upon  my  bodily  system,  communicated  a  propor- 
tionable shock  to  my  mind.  But  still  I  am  nervous, 
iho"  in  a  far  less  degree,  and  still  in  a  degree  I  am 
hasty  and  impetuous.  I  am  sensible  myself,  however, 
and  others  have  observed  it  to  me,  that  I  am  much 
380 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

changed  in  this  respect.  My  sister  remarked  to  me  when 
I  was  last  at  home.  She  said  that  till  this  last  summer, 
tho1  she  knew  how  tenderly  I  always  loved  her  in  my 
heart,  yet  that  there  was  sometimes  an  air  of  severity  and 
sharpness  about  me,  which  deterred  her  from  consulting 
me  so  often  and  so  confidentially  as  she  could  now  do. 
My  mother  made  the  same  observation  to  me,  and  was 
glad  to  see  me  more  thoughtful  and  more  mild.  She 
attributed  this  change  wholly  to  you,  and  said  that,  how- 
ever our  intercourse  might  terminate,  whether  successfully 
or  not,  I  should  be  the  better  man  for  it.  If  successfully, 
then  that  the  same  influence  which  operated  upon  me  at 
that  time  would  continue  to  operate.  If  unhappily,  then 
that  a  certain  captious  spirit  which  arises  from  having 
"  known  no  care  and  felt  no  sorrow  "  would  be  subdued 
and  softened  by  disappointment.  Indeed,  my  beloved 
friend,  among  the  many  obligations  I  owe  to  you,  I  must 
account  this  one.  You  have  a  secret  influence  over  me, 
which,  if  I  am  about  to  relapse  into  a  momentary  im- 
patience, calls  me  back  to  my  better  reason  by  represent- 
ing how  you  would  act,  or  what  you  would  approve.  I 
appeal  to  you  more  frequently  than  you  imagine  ;  and 
tho1  you  know  nothing  about  it,  you  either  advise  me  so 
well,  or  reprove  me  so  kindly,  that  I  always  seem  to  feel 
the  salutary  influence  of  an  invisible  director.  God  bless 
you,  my  best  friend.  I  often  regret  that  I  am  so  little 
worthy  to  be  your  friend  as  I  am.  But  it  is,  and  shall 
be,  my  constant  endeavour  to  become  more  so. 

'  "  May  I  be  assured,"  you  say,  "that  you  will  never  take 
any  active  part  unless  it  should  become  indispensably 
necessary  ?  "  The  only  sense  in  which  you  can  mean  an 
active  part  is  in  the  case  of  a  disturbance  in  the  country. 
Should  such  a  disastrous  event  happen  (which  is,  I  fear, 

331 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

greatly  within  the  bounds  of  possibility),  I  think  every 
honest  and  conscientious  man  must  feel  himself  dread- 
fully distressed  as  to  the  part  he  should  take  and  the 
conduct  he  should  pursue.  It  is  impossible  for  both 
parties  to  be  right,  but  it  is  very  possible  for  both  to  be 
wrong,  and,  I  fear,  very  probable  too.  In  such  a  situa- 
tion it  is  very  difficult  to  say  how  a  good  man  would  act. 
Circumstances  must  determine  him.  There  is  something 
to  be  said  against  total  inactivity,  were  it  possible,  and 
perhaps  it  would  not  be.  I  am  supposing  that  he  is 
a  single  man,  and  that  his  own  life  and  happiness  alone 
can  be  affected  by  his  conduct.  In  that  case  he  must 
determine  to  act  as  his  conscience  may  dictate  and  cir- 
cumstances demand,  and  the  sooner  perhaps  that  he  and 
his  life  take  leave  of  each  other  the  better.  At  least  I 
should  feel  so  in  such  a  situation,  rather  than  be  witness 
to  many  scenes  enacted  by  both  parties  very  grievous  and 
afflicting.  I  persuade  myself  that  there  are  so  many  things 
far  more  difficult  to  endure  than  the  transition  from  life  to 
death, — that  I  could,  I  hope,  submit  to  the  latter  in  many 
cases  not  only  without  compunction,  but  with  joy. 

*  Upon  the  whole,  therefore,  I  think  it  impossible  to 
say  how  such  a  man  would  act.  I,  for  one,  should  be  most 
ardently  desirous  not  to  act  at  all,  even  in  the  case  of 
being  a  single  individual,  as  unconnected  and  insulated 
as  is  possible.  But  (for  in  my  opinion  the  two  situations 
are  as  opposite  and  distinct  as  they  can  be)  were  I  a 
married  man,  and  had  I  the  happiness  of  another  as  well 
as  my  own  in  my  keeping,  there  would  not  exist  any  in- 
ducement in  nature,  nor  can  I  comprehend  nor  figure  to 
myself  those  circumstances  (bating  always  that  case  of 
indispensable  necessity  for  which  you  provide)  which 
could  make  me  take  any  part,  or  side  with  any  party. 
332 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

So  far,  I  have  no  hesitation  whatever  in  giving  a  most 
decided  opinion  and  resolve. 

f  Monday. — Since  I  wrote  the  above  I  have  read  your 
letter  again  and  again,  and  think  that  I  have  not  omitted 
to  answer  every  question  in  such  a  way  as  you  would 
wish.  I  am  anxious  to  give  you  every  satisfaction  that 
you  can  wish  upon  all  my  sentiments,  opinions,  and 
actions,  for  I  desire  that  you  should  know  me  thoroughly. 
When  I  left  off  writing  to  you  yesterday,  I  was  so  much 
occupied  with  my  subject  that  I  neglected  to  dress  for 
dinner  till  the  very  hour  that  I  was  engaged  to  dine  at, 
and  after  dressing  I  had  to  drive  to  Hertford  Street  to 
Mr.  Grey's.  When  I  arrived  there,  the  greater  part  of  the 
dinner  was  removed  from  the  table,  a  situation  which  of 
all  others  I  feel  embarrassing  were  I  upon  a  ceremonious 
footing  with  my  host.  However,  there  was  no  com- 
pany— only  himself,  his  wife,  and  a  young  sister  of  his. 
Mrs.  Grey l  is  surprisingly  beautiful,  very  unaffected,  and 
good-humoured.  This  is  generally  the  extent  of  the 
judgment  I  can  venture  to  pass  upon  an  acquaintance  of 
the  few  first  hours.  I  have  not  always  found  it  so.  I 
am  told  she  is  clever,  and  I  have  reason  to  believe  she  is 
at  least  a  sensible  woman  from  the  manner  in  which 
I  have  understood  that  she  treated  some  previous  pro- 
posals. They  are  remarkably  attached  to  each  other.  I 
do  not  mention  this  as  being  very  wonderful.  But  it  is 
a  good  system,  and  to  me  also  was  a  pleasant  circum- 
stance, to  find  people  who  have  not  been  very  much 
accustomed  to  quiet  and  retirement  seeking  and  finding 
society  in  themselves.  He  lamented  to  me  the  necessity 
of  attending  to  public  affairs  instead  of  to  private.  He 

1  Charles  Grey  (born  in  1764)  married  in  November  1794  a  daughter 
of  Mr.  Brabazon  Ponsonby,  afterwards  the  first  Lord  Ponsonby. 

333 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

was  obliged  to  prepare  his  motion  of  to-day  as  soon  as 
I  left  him,  and  was  afraid,  as  he  had  neglected  the  con- 
sideration of  it  before,  that  he  must  sit  up  the  greater 
part  of  the  night.  "  I  like  not  that  sleepless  honour  that 
Sir  Walter  hath.11 

'  I  have  written  you  a  very  long  letter,  filled  with 
a  great  deal  of  stuff,  more  calculated  to  give  you  ennui 
than  pleasure.  You  will  not  thank  me  for  it.  But  I  am 
insensibly  led  on  to  pour  out  to  you  all  things  that  occur 
to  me,  and  just  as  they  occur.  .  .  .  Everything  more 
that  I  wish  to  say  to  you  must  be  deferred.  Write 
to  me  soon.  You  see  I  have  never  talked  to  you  as  if 
you  were  christened.  Why  should  you  be  ashamed  of 
your  good  name  ?  You  say  you  are  not  used  to  it.  What 
does  your  father  call  you  ?  I  will  not  call  you  by  any 
name  that  you  do  not  like,  and  it  may  seem  trifling  in  me 
to  parley  about  the  term  of  address  as  long  as  I  have  the 
delightful  privilege  of  addressing  you  at  all.  But  it  is 
now  long  since  you  were  Miss  Gunning.  Friend  you 
certainly  are,  but  then  you  are  also  a  good  deal  more ; 
and  I  wish  to  approach  you  even  in  idea  as  nearly  as 
I  can.  Now  that  we  are  on  this  subject  of  addressing 
one  another,  will  you  excuse  me  if  I,  in  my  turn,  make  a 
similar  request  of  you — yet  not  very  similar  either — 
inasmuch  as  mine  is  about  your  not  addressing  me  at  all. 
I  am  only  talking  of  an  idea.  But  then  half  the  comforts 
of  life  are  composed  of  such  light  materials.  Sometimes 
you  begin  your  letters  to  me  without  using  any  vocative 
case.  Use  any  that  you  please — but  call  me  something. 
Your  last  had  a  kinder  aspect  to  me — principally,  I 
believe,  tho1  not  entirely,  I  confess,  from  its  forming 
an  exception  in  that  one  particular  to  your  frequent 
practice.  Forgive  me  this  trifling  request,  as  it  may 
334 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

appear  to  you.  It  does  not  appear  so  to  me.  God  bless 
you,  my  very  dear  and  excellent  friend ;  you  can  never 
know  how  sincerely  I  love  you,  nor  how  loth  I  am,  even 
at  the  extremity  of  my  paper,  to  break  off  this  imperfect 
sort  of  conversation  with  you.1 

Although  a  letter  such  as  this  ought  to  have  softened 
Miss  Gunning's  heart,  since  no  woman  ever  yet  found 
letters  too  long  or  too  frequent,  it  seems  to  have  been  still 
some  time  before  *  dear  friend '  became  translated  into 
'  dearest  Bel.'  Unfortunately,  Mr.  Tweddell,  so  exact  in 
other  respects,  had  a  bad  habit  of  leaving  his  letters  un- 
dated, and  therefore  it  is  only  possible  to  guess  at  the 
order  in  which  they  were  written.  Possibly  this  may 
have  been  a  measure  of  precaution,  since  in  one  only 
is  the  address  given,  and  the  signature  seldom  appears. 
The  Stephen  Digbys  were  evidently  in  the  secret  of  the 
correspondence,  as  well  as  other  friends  or  relations  who 
helped  to  convey  the  letters  from  one  lover  to  the  other. 
Among  the  earlier  epistles  is  one  that  describes  in  some 
detail  the  young  man's  early  education  and  remarkable 
university  career. 

'  I  am  not  uninterested  myself,  I  assure  you,'  he  begins, 
'  in  hoping  and  thinking  that  there  are  advantages  in  a 
reformed  character.  I  have  been  as  different  from  what 
I  am  now,  at  least,  as  you.  When  I  first  went  to  college, 
I  was  introduced  to  a  set  of  pleasant  agreeable  men  who 
lived  in  a  very  different  way  from  any  that  I  had  been 
accustomed  to.  I  had  just  left  a  private  school  in 
Yorkshire,  and  was  perfectly  ignorant  of  mankind  and 
all  its  ways.  I  had  never  been  introduced  into  society 
(a  grand  defect  in  education !),  and,  in  short,  knew 
nothing  except  a  little  Latin  and  Greek,  of  which  I 
thought  I  knew  a  good  deal,  because  I  knew  more  than 

335 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

my  companions.  When,  therefore,  I  arrived  in  college, 
what  could  be  expected  of  me,  young,  with  strong  natural 
passions,  and  now  for  the  first  time  master  of  myself?  I 
attended  to  no  academical  discipline ;  I  never,  or  very 
seldom,  frequented  the  hall,  and  more  seldom  the  chapel. 
I  dined  out  with  a  pack  of  what  are  called  good  fellows 
every  day,  and  supped  until  very  late  hours  as  frequently. 
Luckily  for  my  constitution,  I  was  very  soon  affected  with 
wine,  which  prevented  me  from  taking  such  copious 
libations  as  most  others.  But  then  I  was  in  such 
moments  equal  to  any  mad  freak  that  the  maddest  fool 
could  propose  to  me.  I  used  to  insult  the  proctors  and 
officers  of  the  University;  and  this  life  I  continued, 
regularly  irregular,  for  the  first  year  and  a  half  of  my 
academical  career. 

*  Some  part  of  my  foolish  acquaintances  (foolish  only 
so  far  as  they  were  guilty  of  the  same  extravagances, 
for  many  of  them  were  men  of  much  wit  and  talent) 
then  left  the  University,  and  I  had  for  the  first  time 
an  interval  of  thought  and  leisure  for  reflection.  I 
recollected  that  my  friends  had  cherished  hopes  of  my 
distinguishing  myself  at  the  University ;  which,  however, 
were  sufficiently  extravagant  had  they  considered  or  known 
how  much  my  old  master  had  overrated  the  knowledge 
which  I  had  gained  from  him.  This  consideration,  acting 
upon  a  stock  of  ambition  which,  tho'  long  dormant,  was 
yet  very  large,  incited  me  to  attempt  to  gain  some  one 
of  the  annual  prizes  which  were  just  then  proposed.  I 
wrote  for  them  all,  after  shutting  myself  close  prisoner 
to  my  chambers  for  near  two  months,  and,  as  it  fell  out, 
they  were  all  adjudged  to  me.1  This,  I  confess  to  you, 

1  These  were  the  three  Brown  Medals  for  Greek,  Latin,  and  English 
Compositions. 

336 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

flattered  my  vanity  very  considerably,  more  especially 
as  I  knew  the  University  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
idle  life  I  had  led.  From  this  period  till  the  time  of 
taking  my  first  degree  I  was  neither  wholly  dissipated 
nor  wholly  studious,  but  both,  and  sometimes  both 
extremely.  After  spending  one  month  in  idleness,  I 
would  spend  the  succeeding  one  in  severe  study,  and  have 
frequently  put  off  writing  my  prize  exercises  till  within  a 
few  days  of  their  required  delivery,  and  then  to  complete 
them  have  sitten  [sic]  up  for  three  nights  successively. 
I  tell  you  all  my  weaknesses.  There  was  much  affectation 
and  vanity  in  this  proceeding.  I  wished  to  be  thought 
capable  of  doing  that  which  no  one  can  do — I  mean 
attaining  knowledge  and  the  habit  of  composition 
without  industry  and  application.  I  continued  for  a 
long  time  to  be  desirous  of  this  reputation,  and  in  some 
measure  may  say  that  I  attained  it.  I  possessed  great 
vanity  at  bottom,  but  I  did  not  appear  vain  to  others,  as 
I  never  presumed  upon  my  different  successes. 

'  After  the  first  four  years  of  my  college  life  had  thus 
passed,  I  began  to  make  progress  in  reason.  But  it  was 
very  gradually.  I  often  recurred  to  my  former  wayward- 
ness, but  every  time  with  less  avidity.  I  thought  and 
read  more ;  I  saw  the  glaring  folly  of  my  former  conduct, 
and  framed  a  plan  of  life,  sober  and  rational,  which, 
tho'  I  did  not  immediately  pursue  it  with  steadiness, 
I  had  frequently  in  my  thoughts,  and  approached  more 
nearly  without  quite  arriving  at  it.  I  had  always  in  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  the  most  correct  ideas  of  moral 
subjects,  and  never  departed  from  them  without  a  secret 
compunction.  I  believed  in  religion,  and  never,  or  very 
rarely,  ridiculed  it  in  company,  even  when  urged  by 
thoughtless  jesters.  But  this  I  did  at  that  time,  not 
Y  337 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

because  I  was  convinced,  but  because  my  mother  told  me 
that  I  ought  to  be ;  and  at  that  time  I  was  content  to 
inherit  my  opinions,  as  it  saved  me  the  trouble  of  forming 
them  for  myself.  (For  it  was  not  till  within  these  two 
years  that  I  inquired  very  accurately  into  the  grounds  of 
this  subject.)  There  was  an  additional  feeling  that 
hastened  my  reformation.  It  may  seem  very  trivial ;  but 
I  am  sure  that  wheresoever  it  resides,  it  is  a  valuable 
possession,  and  is  more  connected  with  morals  than  people 
suppose.  I  had  always  a  very  quick  and  lively  perception 
of  natural  and  moral  beauty.  Any  gross  violation  of 
taste,  whether  in  language  or  in  morals,  affected  me 
almost  nervously.  I  could  have  wept  at  any  time,  even 
in  the  midst  of  my  own  dissipation,  over  a  graceful 
display  of  moral  excellence  or  literary  beauty.  In  those 
moments,  had  I  had  any  serious,  well-judging  friend  at 
hand,  he  might  have  taken  advantage  of  my  passion  to  have 
wielded  me  to  a  wiser  system.  You  will  perhaps  think 
that  this  was  very  silly  and  romantic.  But  I  know  that 
it  has  operated  beneficially  upon  me  by  repeated  and 
almost  invisible  influence. 

'  Another  feeling,  again,  in  some  degree  connected  with 
this  was,  that  in  spite  of  those  libertine  actions  which  I 
heard  so  constantly  inculcated,  and  from  which  I  do  not 
pretend  to  have  been  entirely  exempt,  I  always  passion- 
ately adored  the  character  of  a  virtuous  woman ;  and 
invariably  contended  that  no  happiness,  no  state  of  mind 
worthy  of  such  a  name,  could  possibly  be  enjoyed,  if  not 
principally  derived  from  such  an  union.  I  used  to  be 
rallied  for  introducing  some  opinion  of  this  kind  into 
almost  all  my  public  compositions  whenever  I  had  the 
opportunity,  and  this  remark  you  would  also  observe  in 
the  criticism  upon  my  book  in  the  British  Critic.  (By  the 
338 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

way,  what  do  you  think  of  my  essay  on  Happiness,  as  far 
as  you  can  guess  at  the  plan  of  it  from  that  obscure  and 
short  analysis  ?  Do  you  agree  with  me  ?  I  wish  you  could 
read  it  all  through.)  These  thoughts  and  principles, 
which  never  at  any  time  left  me,  returned  upon  me 
frequently  at  last,  and  united  with  the  habits  of  reflection, 
which  gradually  increased  as  my  mind  gained  strength 
and  firmness,  completed  the  entire  mastery  over  my 
ridiculous  follies  and  extravagances.  I  don't  mean  that 
I  have  none  left — I  believe  otherwise.  But  I  am  sure 
they  are  different  in  their  kind,  and  I  hope  and  believe  in 
their  degree.  .  .  . 

'  I  have  given  you,  my  dear  friend,  a  very  long,  perhaps 
an  uninteresting  and  tedious,  certainly  an  unfavourable 
account  of  what  I  once  was.  I  hope  it  will  not  injure  me 
in  your  opinion  so  much  even  as  it  does  in  my  own.  But 
it  was  due  to  you.  You  have  a  right  to  know  of  what 
materials  I  was  originally  composed,  and  what  new  forms 
and  changes  I  have  undergone  at  different  periods.  I 
wish  you  to  know  me  just  as  I  am,  "  with  all  my  imper- 
fections on  my  head."  You  see  I  have  undergone  a  more 
necessary  reformation  than  yourself,  and  that  I  have  a 
great  interest  in  wishing  it  to  be  believed  that  "  some 
dependence  may  be  placed  upon  an  altered  character." 
Tell  me,  do  you  think  worse  of  me  than  you  did  ? 

'  With  regard  to  your  studies,  my  dear  friend,  I  hardly 
know  what  to  advise ;  I  will  think  about  it,  and  reply 
more  largely  another  time.  You  have,  if  I  do  not 
miscount  the  rapidity  with  which  you  travel  over  a 
country,  a  great  stock  of  general  reading  upon  your 
hands.  If  a  lady  for  whom  I  had  no  regard,  and  who 
was  ignorant  of  my  opinions  upon  female  education,  were 
to  put  such  a  question  to  me,  as  relates  to  the  propriety, 

339 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

or  rather  the  expediency,  of  learning  Latin  at  your  age, 
I  do  not  know  that  I  should  be  anxious  to  dissuade  her 
from  attempting  it.  She  might  conceive  me  a  bigot  to 
those  narrow  prejudices  which  would  give  a  sex  to  mind, 
and  narrow  information  to  the  men.  But  you  already 
know  that  my  sentiments  are  the  reverse  of  this.  But 
still,  upon  the  whole,  I  cannot  recommend  you  to  lend 
your  time  to  the  acquisition  of  the  Latin  language.  I 
wish  you  knew  it  at  present,  because  I  think  you  would 
derive  great  gratification  from  the  authors  who  have 
written  in  it.  But  the  time  that  you  must  devote  to  it 
before  you  can  acquire  a  relish  for  its  beauties  frightens 
me.  I  think  it  would  be  too  laborious  an  undertaking 
for  you  without  a  master.  In  short,  I  think  it  would  not 
easily  repay  you  the  trouble  of  acquiring  it  in  perfection, 
and  to  attain  it  superficially  can  hardly  be  your  object. 
General  reading  will  be  much  more  useful  to  you,  and  so 
much  more  entertaining.  Consider  how  many  new  ideas 
you  might  acquire  in  the  time  that  you  are  only  acquiring 
another  and  less  customary  mode  of  expressing  them. 
However,  if  your  desire  is  very  ardent,  I  will  talk  it  over 
more  at  length  with  you  in  another  letter.  I  wish  I 
could  be  always  near  you.  I  think  I  could  teach  it  you  in 
less  time  than  most  other  persons  could,  not  because  I 
possess  superior  skill,  but  because  I  should  more  than 
supply  any  defect  in  that  by  the  excess  of  my  anxiety  and 
attention  to  my  dear  pupil.  If,  in  the  bounty  of  your 
heart,  you  should  think  me  not  adequately  repaid  by  the 
comforts  of  so  sweet  an  intercourse,  you  could  crown  your 
generosity  by  teaching  me  German  in  exchange. 

*  I  don't  think  it  argues  a  want  of  taste  in  you  that 
you  are  not  extravagantly  fond  of  poetry.     Coxcombs 
and  fine  ladies  like  nothing  else.     I  should  defer  in  some 
340 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

measure  to  them  if  they  understood  what  they  read. 
But  as  they  do  not,  I  confess  that  I  like  good  prose  better 
than  bad  verse,  and  good  prose  is  much  more  common  (I 
was  going  to  say  than  bad  verse,  but  I  beg  leave  to 
retract)  than  good  poetry.  You  have  yourself  mentioned 
the  three  poets  I  most  particularly  admire  after  Shake- 
speare— Milton,  Pope,  and  Gray.  When  I  say  most 
particularly,  I  must  be  obliged  to  substitute  Dry  den  in 
the  place  of  Gray,  tho"  Gray  ranks  very  high  in  my 
estimation.  There  is  a  poet  now  alive  (it  would  be  better 
perhaps  for  himself  that  he  were  dead,  if  later  accounts  be 
true),  I  mean  Cowper,  whom  I  admire  extravagantly. 
He  is  much  underrated.  His  genius  is  most  powerful  in 
my  opinion ;  and  I  look  upon  him  as  standing  in  the 
very  foremost  ranks  of  our  English  bards.  Did  you  ever 
read  Bowleses  sonnets  ? l  If  not,  I  will  give  you  a  copy. 
I  will  give  no  opinion  about  them,  but  shall  wait  for 
yours.  But  do  not  tell  me  again  that  you  "feel  it 
arrogance  to  give  one."  Why  should  you  talk  so  ?  The 
opinion  you  have  given  me  of  the  verses  I  sent  you  last 
is,  according  to  my  own  judgment,  most  accurate  and 
correct.  You  have  enunciated  the  very  objections 
which  I  was  conscious  they  possessed  when  I  made  them. 
Did  you  know  that  they  were  mine?  I  used  to  indulge 
a  foolish  Muse  very  frequently  some  years  ago ;  and  tho1 
I  have  not  kept  many  of  my  productions,  as  none  were 
worthy  of  being  preserved,  yet  one  or  two  I  have,  and 
will  submit  them  to  your  criticism,  which  you  will  pass 
upon  them  with  the  same  degree  of  just  severity  when 
they  deserve  it.  Do  not  spare  me,  I  beseech  you.  I  am 
not  like  the  Bishop  in  Gil  Bias.  I  have  really  procured 

1  The  Rev.  William  Bowles  (1762- 1850)  published,  in  1789,  his  Fourteen 
Sonnets,  which  met  with  an  enthusiastic  welcome  from  the  critics. 

341 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

some  of  my  early  compositions  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
laughing  at  the  infinite  nonsense  uttered  by  an  ill- 
favoured  Muse  in  the  pains  of  labour.  .  .  .'' 


PART   III 

AN  interesting  undated  fragment,  which  gives  some 
insight  into  the  writer's  views  on  the  religious  aspect  of 
the  French  Revolution,  and  other  matters,  apparently 
belongs  to  the  earlier  letters. 

'  Believe  not,'  it  begins,  '  that  the  mind  of  man  can 
long  rest  contented  with  the  denial  of  a  First  Cause.  The 
French  in  the  midst  of  their  insanity  under  Danton 
affected  to  abjure  the  existence  of  a  God,  and  voted  by 
acclamation  the  nullity  of  Providence.  Did  I  therefore 
believe  that  the  French  were  a  nation  of  atheists  ?  By  no 
means.  It  served  the  purpose  both  of  our  political  and 
clerical  ministers  here  to  say  so,  in  order  to  irritate  us 
against  such  a  prodigious  solecism.  But  I  must  first  be 
deprived  of  reason  before  I  can  believe  the  possibility  of 
plucking  the  truisms  of  nature  from  the  heart  of  man. 
From  that  black  and  baneful  superstition  which  converted 
the  Deity  into  the  worser  agent  of  the  Manichean  system, 
I  do  not  wonder  that  all  the  thinking  part  of  France 
revolted.  Unhappily,  they  recoiled  with  too  great  elasti- 
city, and  reached,  a  part  of  them,  the  opposite  extreme 
of  infidelity.  Certainly,  the  greater  part  of  the  Academi- 
cians were  unbelievers.  But  I  have  no  doubt  that  in 
a  little  time  truth  will  be  generally  received,  and  the 
rational  worship  of  a  benevolent  Deity  substituted  instead 
of  the  worship  of  the  Pope.  .  .  . 

'  I  am  glad  you  are  pleased  with  my  promise  about 
342 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

public  meetings.  You  may  depend  that  whatever  promise 
I  make,  I  keep.  I  am  not,  therefore,  hasty  in  making 
them.  I  am  just  now  reading  a  book  upon  morals,  which 
declaims  against  promises,  and  the  adherence  to  them, 
against  gratitude  and  against  that  love  which  I  bear  you. 
You  must  read  this  some  day  or  other — not  that  you  may 
agree  with  the  opinions  (that  is,  not  all)  contained  in 
it,  but  because  it  is  a  very  able  book,  and  has  much  truth 
mixed  with  much  absurd  paradox.  The  book  is  God- 
win's Political  Justice.1  It  is  much  talked  of,  and  deserves 
to  be  talked  of,  and  you  should  therefore  be  able  to  form 
your  own  opinion  of  its  merits,  upon  which  we  will  com- 
municate. Nothing  hurts  me  more,  as  far  as  the  con- 
sideration of  weakness  can  hurt  me,  than  to  hear  a  person 
condemning  a  book  which  they  have  never  read,  perhaps 
cannot  read,  and  probably  cannot  understand.  Yet  this 
is  very  common.  They  condemn  by  report,  and  a  work 
is  very  frequently  abused  by  a  hundred  men,  whereof  one 
only  has  read  it.  The  rest  judge,  according  to  their  just 
competency,  by  hearsay.  A  lady  was  abusing  a  book  the 
other  day.  I  said,  "  As  I  suppose,  madam,  it  is  needless 
for  me  to  inquire  if  you  have  read  it,  pray,  which  part 
is  the  most  offensive  to  you  ?  "  "  Read  it !  God  forbid, 
sir,  that  I  should  have  read  it.  I  have  heard  too  much 
of  it  to  think  of  reading  it."  She  could  not  have  given 
a  better  reason  for  its  attentive  perusal. 

*  So  my  squib  amused  you !  Oh,  my  dear  Bel,  how 
I  wish  I  could  make  you  feel  more  independent  of  the 
opinions  of  fools!  To  be  free  from  the  despotism  of 
folly  one  must  be  a  little  hated.  Why  should  I  care 
what  is  said  of  me  by  Lord  Delaval  and  his  profligate 
gang  ?  I  wonder  at  you  sometimes.  Why  will  you,  as 
1  Published  in  1793. 

343 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

you  sometimes  do,  put  your  light  under  a  bushel  ?  Upon 
this  very  subject  I  could  say  much  to  you,  but  I  have 
exceeded  my  time,  and  must  walk  very  quickly  with  this 
to  Burlington  Street,  whither  I  fear  Mr.  Digby  nay 
have  gone  before  me.  Expect  a  letter  left  at  Lord 
Ilchester's  on  Sunday,  for  I  have  said  to  you  nothing  of 
all  that  I  meant  to  say.  Now  I  know  that  I  shall 
frighten  you  by  enclosing  a  letter  from  Mr.  Robinson, 
but  I  cannot  help  it  if  you  will  start  at  shadows.  It  is 
a  very  friendly  and  a  very  honest  letter,  and  you  shall 
tell  me  how  far  I  may  converse  with  him  farther  to 
remove  his  scruples  about  the  introduction.  But  do  not 
fail  to  preach  me  a  sermon  about  the  unfortunate 
notoriety  of  my  political  tenets.  If  you  fail  in  this, 
you  will  disappoint  me.  I  will  reserve  therefore  my 
remarks  upon  this  letter  until  I  get  yours.  God  Mess 
you,  my  sweet  friend. — Yours  for  ever  and  a  day."" 

A  letter  dated  February  17  (1795)  gives  a  detailed 
account  of  a  visit  with  Dr.  Parr  to  the  elder  Ireland's, 
for  the  purpose  of  inspecting  the  '  Shakespearean '  docu- 
ments which  his  son  professed  to  have  discovered. 

'  You  have  heard,  no  doubt,  of  the  treasure  that  has 
been  found  relating  to  Shakespeare.1  I  went  on  Monday 
with  Dr.  Parr  to  look  at  them,  he  being  acquainted  with 
the  possessor  of  them,  Mr.  Ireland.  I  assure  you,  my 
dear  Bel,  they  were  a  very  rich  repast.  I  have  no  doubt 
whatever  of  their  authenticity.  There  is  every  internal 

1  The  elder  Ireland  exhibited  the  documents  at  his  house  in  Norfolk 
Street,  and  invited  literary  men  to  inspect  them.  On  February  25, 
1795,  Dr.  Parr,  Sir  Isaac  Heard,  Pye  the  laureate,  and  sixteen  other 
gentlemen,  signed  a  paper  testifying  their  belief  in  the  genuineness  of 
the  'finds.'  Dr.  Joseph  Warton  was  another  of  the  dupes.  The  fraud 
was  not  exposed  until  after  the  performance  of  Vortigern  at  Drury  Lane 
in  April  1796. 

344 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

evidence.  They  consist  of  an  agreement  between  Shake- 
speare and  Condel,  the  manager,  to  act  at  the  rate  of  one 
pound  one  shilling  a  week — another  agreement  some  time 
after  for  thirty  shillings  a  week.  A  bargain  between 
Shakespeare  and  some  other  person  for  a  house  and  six 
acres  of  land.  A  curious  letter  from  Shakespeare  to  one 
of  his  brother-players,  containing  a  drawing  by  himself, 
enriched  with  various  enigmatical  devices.  A  confes- 
sion of  his  faith  a  few  years  before  his  death,  concluding 
with  a  penitential  prayer.  There  is  also  a  love  letter 
written  by  him  at  the  age  of  sixteen  to  the  lady  who 
afterwards  became  his  wife,  containing  a  lock  of  his 
ambrosial  hair,  which  is  in  great  perfection,  and  tied 
in  silken  twist.  For  the  same  lady  there  is  a  valentine. 
A  letter  from  himself  to  Lord  Southampton,  professing 
his  gratitude  in  very  fine  and  brilliant  language,  and 
Lord  Southampton's  answer,  from  which  it  appears 
that  he  had  offered  him  ^2000  (an  immense  sum 
in  those  days),  but  Shakespeare  would  only  accept  of 
^1000.  There  are  some  very  divine  conceptions  in  his 
profession  of  faith  (from  which,  by  the  way,  it  appears  he 
was  not  orthodox)  and  in  the  love  letter.  There  is, 
moreover,  a  sketch  of  him  in  the  character  of  Bassanio. 
The  new  play  in  MS.  [  Vortigern}  and  the  MS.  copy  of  King 
Lear  in  his  own  handwriting  I  did  not  see,  Mr.  Ireland 
not  having  yet  received  them  out  of  the  country.  I  was 
delighted  exceedingly,  and  wished  at  the  time  that  you 
had  been  with  me,  as  I  always  do  whenever  I  feel  any 
pleasure  that  is  capable  of  participation. 

'  Are  you  an  enthusiast  about  Shakespeare  ?  The  last 
time  I  passed  through  Stratford  I  visited  carefully  every 
place  or  thing  that  was  hallowed  by  his  residence  or 
possession.  I  cut  off  a  piece  of  the  old  chair  which 

345 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

belonged  to  him — the  seat  of  which  was  sold  just  before 
for  thirty  guineas.  I  bought  very  many  gewgaws  made 
out  of  a  mulberry  tree,  which  is  reputed  to  be  the  same 
that  he  planted.  Whether  this  is  true  or  not,  I  cannot 
tell.  But  I  know  that  my  enthusiasm  made  me  lay  out 
more  money  than  might  have  bought  most  mulberry 
trees  in  the  kingdom.  I  have  given  all  these  fragments 
away,  except  a  little  box  and  a  smelling-bottle,  which  I 
will  give  you.  The  carving  is  not  very  exquisite,  but  the 
smelling-bottle  is  carved  the  best,  and  I  therefore  reserved 
it  for  some  one  whom  I  should  like  better  than  any  other 
person  in  the  world.  Is  it  not  yours  then,  my  dearest 
friend  ? ' 

Bel  having  presumably  got  through  the  books  that  her 
lover  had  recommended  to  her  in  the  autumn,  he  sends 
her  another  Gargantuan  list,  which  includes  Locke's 
Treatise  on  the  Reasonableness  of  Christianity,  Dr.  Watts'1 
On  the  Improvement  of  the  Mind,  the  Abbe  Condillac's 
Essay  on  Human  Knowledge,  Bolingbroke's  Letters  on 
History,  Mel  moth's  Translation  of  the  Essays  of  Tully, 
Hooker  On  Ecclesiastical  Polity,  Adam  Smith  On  the 
Wealth  of  Nations,  Beccaria  On  Crime,  Cud  worth's  In- 
tellectual System,  Priestley's  Lectures  on  History,  Hartley 
On  Man,  Bubb  Dodington's  Diary,  Lord  Chatham's 
Memoirs,  and  Paley's  recently  published  Evidences  of 
Christianity.  '  By  the  way,'  he  adds,  '  when  I  was  last  at 
Carlisle,  I  dined  with  Mr.  Paley,  and  spent  with  him 
seven  very  pleasant  and  instructive  hours.  His  manners 
are  not  very  polished,  a  good  deal  like  those  of  an  old 
collegian.1  But  his  conversation  is  highly  entertaining, 
and  very  much  in  the  manner  of  his  writings.  .  .  . 

'  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  have  found  so  much 
1  Paley  was  then  in  his  fifty-third  year. 

346 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

difficulty  in  reading  Locke,  for  we  are  naturally  apt  to 
measure  the  intellect  of  others  by  our  own,  and  it  was 
the  case  with  me.  I  can  give  you,  indeed,  very  little 
account  of  the  great  Essay  at  present ;  for  I  would  not 
have  you  imagine  that  the  consciousness  of  little  benefit 
from  studies  and  the  want  of  memory  and  attention  are 
peculiar  to  yourself.  They  are  common  complaints  with 
almost  all  persons  who  read  a  good  deal,  and  I  have  at 
least  as  much  occasion  to  make  them  as  you  can  have. 
Few  minds  can  retain  all  they  read,  and  a  great  deal  of 
what  I  have  read  has  departed  from  me,  leaving  only  the 
general  impression.  Thus  am  I  frequently  enabled  to 
talk  superficially  upon  books  which  I  have  once  read 
and  comprehended,  tho1 1  afterwards  have  forgotten  the 
greater  part  of  what  they  contain.  .  .  . 

'But  I  cannot  bear  that  my  dearest  friend  should  talk 
of  acquired  knowledge  as  being  of  little  advantage  to  a 
woman.  This  is  a  received  prejudice  which  you  should 
not  humour  ;  and,  believe  me,  much  more  than  is  sus- 
pected of  the  evil  in  society  is  derived  from  this  very 
source.  The  education  of  your  sex  is  grievously  neglected, 
and  it  is  a  national  calamity.  Women  must,  from 
physical  causes,  have  great  influence  upon  men ;  and  were 
they  more  enlightened  than  their  own  contracted  system- 
makers  will  permit  them  to  be,  they  might  wield  that 
influence  to  the  wisest  and  most  beneficial  purposes. 
But  inveterate  habit  has  made  men  slaves  and  women 
tyrants.  Hence  "  bevies  of  fair  women  "  are 

"  Bred  only  and  completed  to  the  taste 
Of  lustful  appetence,  to  sing,  to  dance, 
To  dress,  and  troll  the  tongue,  and  roll  the  eye." — MILTON. 

Ignorance  in  them  is  indeed  rendered  excusable,  because 

347 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

it  is  admired  by  the  men,  who  consider  wives  merely  as 
domestics.  But  my  idea  of  females  is  very  different. 
Providence  could  never  intend  one-half  of  the  species  to 
be  thus  degraded  at  the  lawless  and  imperious  requisi- 
tion  ' 

At  this  interesting  point  the  fragment  unfortunately 
breaks  off,  and  we  have  no  opportunity  of  learning  any 
more  of  Mr.  TweddelPs  very  modern  and  enlightened 
views  upon  the  '  woman  question.1  It  has  already  become 
evident  that  '  Bel 1  was  not  a  little  alarmed  at  the 
'  advanced '  opinions  of  her  lover.  Her  regard  for  him 
was  perhaps  already  beginning  to  cool,  but  it  is  patheti- 
cally obvious  that  he  was  as  faithfully  devoted  to  her  as 
at  the  opening  of  their  correspondence. 

*  You   don't   know,1   he   assures  her  in  another  long 
epistle,  '  what  a  consolation  it  is  to  me  that  I  have  in 
you   a   friend   to    whom  I  can   so  confidently  unbosom 
myself  and  pour  out  every  feeling  of  my  heart.     Have  I 
a  thought  which  I  could  not  with  pleasure  communicate 
to  you  ?    Not  one.     Even  my  faults  and  weaknesses,  past 
or  present,  I  would  not  wish  to  conceal  from  you.     I 
hope  they  never  were  very  many,  and  that  they  are  now 
much  fewer  than  before.     Had  I  had  the  good  fortune  of 
being  sooner  acquainted  with  you,  some  of  them  would 
certainly  have  been  avoided.  .  .  . 

*  Consider  this  sometimes,  my  dear  Bel,  and  above  all 
at  those  times  when  you   mention  the  sensations   with 
which  you  reflect  upon  the  formation  of  our  friendship. 
The  greatest  pang  that  I  could  feel  would  be  in  the  case 
of  your  ever  expressing  a  wish  that  our  intercourse  had 
not  commenced,  be  it  on  my  account  or  your  own.     No, 
look  if  you  can  with  regard  and  complacency  upon  that 
moment  when  we  became  friends.      I  believe   that   no 

348 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

disaster  that  can  betide  my  ill-fated  being  shall  ever 
make  me  contemplate  without  pride  and  triumph,  as  well 
as  without  pleasure  and  satisfaction,  an  acquaintance  far 
more  precious  than  my  life  with  all  its  other  enjoyments. 
My  blessed  love,  I  feel  how  impossible  it  is  to  say  what  I 
feel  upon  this  subject;  add,  therefore,  to  what  you  feel 
yourself  all  that  may  be  inferred  from  my  greater  warmth 
of  temper,  from  the  circumstances  of  a  first  attachment, 
and  from  the  advantage  on  my  side  of  having  in  you 
more  to  love,  venerate,  and  esteem.  Recollect  that  the 
more  susceptible  of  two  hearts  always  bears  the  joys  as 
well  as  the  anxieties  of  both.  .  .  . 

*  By  the  way,  I  have  always  omitted  to  remark  upon 
your  observations  on  Mr.  Robinson's  letter  to  me.  I  did 
this  intentionally;  you  said  you  were  shocked  at  his 
refusal  to  introduce  me  to  his  sister,  a  refusal  which  I 
could  not  find  anywhere  in  that  letter,  and  I  was  assured 
that  he  fully  intended  to  introduce  me  the  next  time 
that  I  came  to  town,  tho'  we  had  no  more  conversation 
on  the  subject.  You  made  no  allowance  for  the  banter 
of  some  of  his  expressions,  such  as  unfortunate  notoriety, 
etc.,  expressions  such  as  he  would  never  use  to  me  in  sober 
meaning.  And  you  observed  that  you  were  the  rather 
shocked  as  he  was  a  liberal  man,  and  "  certainly  not 
averse  to  the  opinions  which  you  profess.""  I  think 
very  well  indeed  of  Mr.  Robinson,  and  I  do  not  think 
him  so  illiberal  as  many  men  with  his  sentiments  are ; 
but  as  to  his  not  being  averse  to  my  political  opinions, 
I  am  amazed  at  your  saying  so.  If  you  mean  that  once 
in  his  life  he  was  a  Foxite,  I  grant  it ;  but  after  that  it 
became  dangerous  even  to  defend  Mr.  Fox.  Besides,  Mr. 
Robinson  went  into  France,  and  when  he  returned  seemed 
unable  to  separate  his  reprobation  of  the  cruelties  prac- 

349 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

tised  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution  from  a  reprobation 
of  the  principles  of  the  Revolution  itself,  and  of  the 
principles  of  its  advocates,  between  which  I  humbly  con- 
ceive there  is  no  necessary  connection,  tho""  it  has  been 
very  customary  to  make  one.  Hence,  it  became  impossible 
for  any  one  to  wish  well  to  France  without  being  classed 
in  the  list  of  OMOMUtf. 

'  You  said  also  that  it  could  not  surely  injure  me  in  my 
own  opinion  to  be  thought  moderate,  and  not  to  be 
attached  to  any  party.  Undoubtedly  not.  But  to  be 
thought  moderate  does  not  depend  upon  myself.  To  be 
so  does,  and  that  I  am.  Neither  am  I  attached  to  any 
party.  I  am  intimate  with  certain  individuals  of  one 
party.  But  to  the  party  itself  I  have  no  attachment 
whatever,  as  a  party,  nor  ever  can  have,  except  so  long 
and  so  far  as  they  are  attached  to  my  principles.  You 
were  grieved  to  think  that  the  notoriety  of  my  conduct 
was  such  as  to  prevent  a  man,  whose  political  principles 
were  different  from  mine,  from  being  acquainted  with 
me.  If  this  is  the  case,  so  am  I — but  I  am  grieved  for 
that  man,  and  not  for  myself.  My  political  conduct 
never  has  been,  and  never  will  be,  such  as  shall  not  con- 
vince any  enlightened  man  that  whether  I  be  right  or 
wrong,  I  act  from  principle.  If  he  conceives  that  the 
mere  difference  of  principle  is  a  sufficient  reason  for 
shunning  me,  I  am  content.  I  pity  him,  and  respect 
myself.  For  my  own  part,  I  know  that  I  never  yet  saw 
that  man  whose  opinions,  however  widely  differing  from 
my  own,  yet  appearing  to  me  to  be  honestly  and  sincerely 
professed,  and  himself  in  other  respects  such  a  man  as 
I  should  like, — I  never  yet  saw  that  man  whom  under 
such  circumstances  I  should  not  regard  just  as  much  as 
tho"1  he  agreed  with  me  in  every  tittle. 
350 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

'  You  see,  my  dear  Bel,  I  write  to  you  upon  anything 
that  occurs  to  me,  and  am  not  afraid  of  wearying  you, 
though  I  have  said  so  much  about  myself.  There  is  no 
way  so  good  for  becoming  acquainted  with  everything 
that  has  relation  to  either  of  us.  Act  you  in  the  same 
way  towards  me,  and  talk  to  me  about  yourself  as  much 
as  you  will;  I  shall  be  more  delighted  than  with  any 
other  subject.  Let  me  know  your  thoughts  as  they  rise 
naturally,  and  do  not  put  off  the  expression  of  them  till 
you  know  of  an  opportunity  of  writing  to  me.  I  am 
rejoiced  to  think  that  in  a  little  time  you  will  spend  a 
month  at  Mrs.  Digby's.  I  hope  you  will  contrive  to  let 
me  see  a  good  deal  of  you.  I  am  glad  your  dislike  to 
London  increases,  and  assure  you  that  mine  does;  and 
I  wish  that  you  and  I  were  together  in  the  country, 
enjoying  each  other's  society  and  conversation  in  peace 
and  tranquillity,  dans  une  maison  simple  et  bien  reglee^  ou 
regnent  Fordre,  la  pair,  T  innocence ;  on  Fon  voit  reuni 
sans  appareil,  sans  eclat,  tout  ce  qui  repond  a  la  veritable 
destination  de  Fhomme. 

( I  have  this  moment  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Digby. 
I  had  sent  to  ask  him  to  dine  with  me  on  Tuesday,  but 
I  find  that  he  is  engaged  to  you.  Alas !  alas !  my  Bel, 
why  is  not  this  the  same  thing  ? ' 

From  the  concluding  paragraph  it  will  appear  that 
Miss  Gunning  was  in  town,  but  evidently  the  lovers  had 
little  or  no  opportunity  of  meeting,  for  the  letter  is 
continued  under  the  date  of  '  Tuesday  morning.' 

*  The  most  trifling  thing  that  relates  to  you,  my  dear 
Bel,  is  not  indifferent.  I  will  therefore  tell  you  that  I 
sometimes  observe  with  no  small  degree  of  surprise  that 
you,  who  are  so  accurate  and  correct,  and  a  great  deal 

more  than  that  in  every  other  part  of  your  writing 

351 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

[Here  follows,  it  may  be  inferred,  some  criticism  which  has 
been  carefully  erased,  probably  by  the  recipient.]  Again, 
if  lam  not  mistaken,  when  you  would  denominate  a  Free- 
thinker, you  call  such  an  one  an  esprit  fort,  not  &jbrt  esprit. 
But  I  speak  with  submission.  You  understand  French 
much  better  than  I  do.  Besides,  I  do  not  even  undertake 
to  say  that  you  were  guilty  of  this  mistake,  if  it  is  one,  as 
you  may  rest  assured  that  I  have  not  the  letter  by  me  in 
which  it  was  mentioned. 

*  Now  you  will  not  think  me  either  finical  or  fastidious 
for  making  these  trifling  remarks  to  you,  will  you,  dear 
Bel  ?  All  you  do  appears  so  perfect  to  my  eyes,  that  the 
slightest  deviation  from  your  general  habits  of  correct- 
ness and  elegance  strikes  me  quicker  than  in  any  one  else. 
In  any  other  person  I  should  have  looked  upon  these 
little  inaccuracies  as  things  of  course,  and  not  worthy 
of  mention.  But  the  least  soil  is  visible  on  a  fair  skin, 
while  dirt  escapes  observation  on  the  face  of  a  mulatto. 
The  great  charm  of  your  letters  to  me  consists  in  their 
honest  negligence,  and  the  absence  of  all  care  and  study, 
which  is  the  base  of  friendly  and  familiar  intercourse,  so 
that  your  very  mistakes  originate  in  your  excellences, 
and  (will  you  tolerate  for  once  a  paradox  ?)  if  you  were 
more  perfect  you  would  be  less  so.  ... 

'I  was  a  great  rake  last  night.  For  the  first  time 
since  you  knew  me,  I  went  to  a  public  place.  And  yet  I 
think  this  would  hardly  have  happened  had  not  a  friend 
of  mine,  who  is  gone  to  Bath  for  a  few  days,  given  me 
the  charge  of  his  wife,  and  a  ticket  for  the  opera  concert. 
One  dissipation  leads  to  another.  I  met  there  Lady 
Shaftesbury,  and  she  made  me  promise  to  wait  upon  her 
on  Monday.  I  almost  doubt  whether  I  shall  keep  my 
engagement.  I  hate  routs  and  cards  and  nonsense.  I 
352 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

should  not  wish  to  meet  you  at  any  public  place.      I 
always  thought  so,  and  now  I  am  convinced  of  it.     That 
air  of  indifference  kills  me.     How  miserable  I  was  after 
seeing  you  at    Hastings'*  trial ! l      If  my  own   life   had 
depended  upon  my  showing  indifference  to  you,  I  should 
have  lost  it.     You  hardly  looked  at  me.     But,  my  sweet 
Bel,  don't  think  I  am  blaming  you.     Your  father  was 
very  civil  to  me,  and  came  up  to  me  and  shook  hands, 
and  I  think  if  you  had  talked  to  me  easily,  I  might  have 
conversed  a  little.     But  I  was  quite  chilled  by  my  first 
approach  to  you,  and  no  longer  knew  where  I  was,  nor 
what  I  was  doing.     Good  God,  Bel,  you  have  no  con- 
ception how  nervous  I  am  on  such  occasions !      What 
must  your  father  have  thought  at  seeing  that  we  did  not 
talk  to  each  other  ?     Either  that  we  had  forgotten  our 
intimacy,  or  that  we  had  improved  it.     Was  it  possible 
that  he  should  think  the  first  ?     A  h,  mon  amie,  le  mauvais 
refuge  pour  nous  qu'une  assembUe!     Quel  tourment  de  se 
voir,  et  de  se  contraindre !     Comment  avoir  Vair  tranquille 
avec  tant  demotion  ?  Comment  etre  si  indifferent  de  soi-  meme  ? 
'  God  bless  you,  my  dearest  Bel,  friend  of  my  heart,  and 
only  comfort  of  my  life.     Write  to  me  soon,  I  beg  of 
you.     I  have  often  seen,  my  dear  Bel,  that  you  were 
much  alarmed  by  the  "  Friends  of  the  People."     I  have 
talked  with  you  very  little  about  politics.    But  I  am  con- 
vinced that  there  would  not  be  much  difference  between  us 
if  I  were  to  reason  with  you  a  few  days  upon  the  subject. 
That  society,  however,  has  certainly  shown  itself  a  very 
harmless  one.    It  has  done  some  good,  but  little.    Harm- 
less, perhaps,  was  the  word.     I  have  sent  you  its  different 
publications,  which  you  may  read  and  keep.     But  take 
care  that  Sir  Robert  does  not  see  them  lying  negligently 
1  Hastings  was  acquitted  by  the  House  of  Lords  in  April  1795. 

z  353 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

about,  to  create  anarchy  and  confusion  among  his 
domestics,  and  to  subvert  the  constitution  of  his  family. 
.  .  .  You  see,  Gray  has  behaved  well  about  the  Prince's 
debts.  He  told  me  some  days  ago  that  if  that  proposi- 
tion was  made,  he  should  oppose  it.' 

Another  letter,  dated  April  8th,  is  written  in  rather  a 
desponding  frame  of  mind.  He  writes,  he  says,  merely 
because  he  must  occupy  himself  about  her,  and  it  is  less 
painful  to  write  than  to  think.  He  has  been  debarred 
from  reading  in  consequence  of  the  illness  of  his  best 
friend,  to  whom  he  was  accustomed  to  communicate  all 
his  thoughts. 

*  I  have,  of  course,  very  many  other  acquaintances,1 
he  continues,  '  with  whom  I  have  lived  both  at  the 
University  and  in  London  upon  terms  of  the  greatest 
intimacy.  But  to  live  always  upon  the  same  footing,  it 
is  necessary  that  if  one  party  changes,  the  other  should 
undergo  an  equal  and  similar  alteration,  and  that  their 
minds  should  receive  simultaneous  effect  from  the  pro- 
gress of  age  and  the  external  action  of  events.  This  can 
seldom  happen;  the  same  causes  cannot  operate  upon 
many  in  the  same  way.  Some  are  more  cold ;  some  are 
more  worldly;  interest  predominates  with  the  greater  part, 
and  whithersoever  that  leads,  they  must  follow.  Things 
assume  gradually  another  aspect;  and  what  passed  at 
eighteen  for  the  warmth  of  generous  sympathy,  appears 
at  five-and-twenty  to  have  been  the  league  of  unmeaning 
merriment,  or  the  alliance  of  mutual  follies.  We  are 
amazed  at  such  a  bond  of  union ;  and  whether  the  one  is 
stationary,  while  the  other  is  progressive,  or  each  advances 
in  his  journey  of  life  in  opposite  directions,  the  habits  are 
no  longer  analogous,  the  artificial  junction  is  dissolved, 
and  the  minds  of  both  parties  are  gladly  released  from 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

an  ill-assorted  connection  formed  during  the  minority  of 
intellect,  and  before  the  birth  of  judgment! 

c  You  are  very  kind  when  you  "  hope  to  see  me  in  the 
course  of  this  month."  Pray,  contrive  it  so.  It  is  near 
half  a  year  since  I  saw  you — and  I  have  volumes  to 
say  to  you.  But  let  us  meet  at  Mrs.  Digby's.  To  see 
you  in  any  other  way  just  now  would  indeed  give  me 
great  pleasure,  but  it  would  be  mingled  with  much  regret 
that  I  could  be  able  to  say  so  little  to  you.  I  was 
satisfied,  my  dearest  friend,  with  the  account  you  gave  me 
of  your  health.  When  you  go  out  in  the  carriage,  drive 
into  the  Park,  or  out  of  London  anywhere,  rather  than 
make  calls.  I  can  hardly  tell  why  I  have  written  this 
letter  to  you,  as  there  is  nothing  in  the  combination 
of  all  its  letters  which  can  possibly  give  you  pleasure. 
But  I  have  appeared  to  spend  a  little  time  in  conversing 
with  you ;  and  tho'  I  have  engrossed  all  the  conversation 
myself  (which  is  not  my  fault),  you  are  yet  in  time  to 
reply  to  me.  Do  so  quickly,  tho1  I  grant  such  a  foolish 
scrawl  hardly  deserves  that  you  should.  But  your 
generosity  will  not  allow  you  merely  to  satisfy  a  legal 
claim.  You  do  more ;  and  your  creditor  no  sooner 
loses  that  character  than  he  becomes  your  debtor.  God 
bless  you,  my  dear  Bel,  God  Almighty  bless  you.' 

Only  one  more  letter  has  been  preserved  besides  the 
melancholy  answer  to  the  communication  in  which  Bel 
broke  off  the  connection  (it  could  hardly  be  called  an 
engagement),  and  at  the  same  time  very  nearly  broke 
the  decorous,  well-regulated  heart  of  John  Tweddell.  In 
this  last  letter  but  one,  he  continues  his  literary  discus- 
sions, and  shows  symptoms  of  a  tendency  to  criticise  his 
lady  for  shortcomings  in  the  way  of  moral  timidity,  and 
an  exaggerated  deference  to  public  opinion. 

355 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

'  I  shall  send  you  along  with  this  letter,"1  he  writes, 
'  Brand's  Popular  Antiquities l — a  book  which  I  persuade 
myself  will  afford  you  both  amusement  and  instruction  .  . . 
Formey's  concise  History  of  Philosophy  I  shall  send  you  in 
the  same  parcel.  .  .  .  Are  you  well  acquainted  with  the 
history  of  late  years  ?  It  is  important,  very  important,  that 
you  should  be.  The  information  of  late  date  is  generally 
collected  in  scraps  and  piecemeal  from  annual  registers 
and  such  sort  of  miscellaneous  collections.  But  I  will, 
if  you  choose,  lend  you  a  set  of  books  which  shall  give 
you  in  regular  connection  a  history  of  England,  and  of 
other  countries  so  far  as  they  are  connected  with  England, 
from  the  accession  of  George  i.  to  the  present  time. 
There  is  also  a  book  not  long  published  which  you  must 
read — I  mean  Ramsay's  History  of  the  American  Revolu- 
tion. I  have  it,  and  you  shall,  therefore,  have  it  from  me. 

'  I  wish,  my  dearest  friend,  that  I  could  always  assist  at 
your  studies.  It  would  be  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures 
of  my  life  to  be  appealed  to  by  you  on  any  subject ; 
and  sometimes,  perhaps,  it  might  not  be  wholly  useless 
to  yourself,  as  when  I  could  not  immediately  solve  a 
difficulty,  as  would  frequently  happen,  yet  the  desire  of 
satisfying  you  would  supply  all  that  energy  and  applica- 
tion and  inquiry  which  might  be  finally  victorious.  In 
good  truth,  I  wish  to  find  myself  in  a  new  situation 
respecting  you.  I  wish  to  be  able  to  converse  with  you 
on  calmer  topics  than  I  have  yet  been  allowed  to  do  by 
the  shortness  of  the  time  in  which  I  have  enjoyed  your 
society.  You  would  find  that  I  can  reason  far  more 
coolly  than  I  can  love.  But  those  temperate  moments 
are  among  those  prayers  to  which  heaven  lends  no  ear. 
A  large  majority  of  mankind  are  putting  up  daily 
1  Published  in  1777. 

356 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

petitions  for  riches  and  distinction  ;  they  pursue  with 
a  mad  zeal  all  that  is  unreasonable ;  and  are,  if  their 
exertions  correspond  with  their  desires,  for  the  most 
part  gratified.  I  have  only  one  wish — a  little  and  a 
rational  wish.  I  covet  neither  wealth,  nor  honour,  nor 
distinction.  My  happiness  is  all  centred  in  social  and 
unambitious  retirement,  in  the  attachment  and  posses- 
sion of  one  only  friend,  to  whom  I  might  impart  all 
that  I  should  feel  or  know,  and  in  whose  gentle  bosom 
deposit  all  my  thoughts  and  sentiments.  .  .  . 

*  But  I  will  not  weary  you,  my  best  friend,  with  repeti- 
tions of  what  you  know  already.  Yet  you  must  also 
know  that  it  is  difficult  to  be  on  the  verge  of  such  a 
subject  which  embraces  in  it  all  that  affects  me  most 
sensibly  and  vitally,  and  not  to  enter  upon  it.  Give  me 
all  the  comfort  you  can  by  writing  to  me.  That  soothes 
my  mind  and  makes  it  for  the  time  feel  happy  ;  which, 
I  assure  you,  few  other  things  do.  How  long  do  you 
mean  to  stay  in  town?  Has  your  father  determined 
whether  he  will  go  to  Harrogate  in  the  summer  ?  Pray, 
do  not  you  go.  Then,  wherever  else  you  may  go,  it  is 
possible  for  me  to  see  you.  I  wish  Sir  Robert  would  go 
to  Harrogate  and  leave  you  at  Mr.  Digby's;  what  a 
blessed  event  that  would  be  !  I  wish  you  could  contrive 
it  so.  Mr.  Digby  lent  me  a  book  which  you,  I  dare  say, 
have  read  at  the  Lodge.  The  title  is  Original  Love- 
Letters.1  I  read  it  last  night.  The  letters  are  well 
written,  and  I  do  not  believe  them  to  be  fictitious ;  at 
least,  they  are  not  written  by  one  and  the  same  pen. 
The  lady's  are  incomparably  the  best.  In  his  there  are 

1  During  the  period  of  his  widowhood  Colonel  Digby  had  read  aloud 
these  Original  Love-Letters  to  Miss  Burney,  and  discussed  them  with  her 
(see  her  Diary). 

357 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

sometimes  good  remarks,  but  there  is  no  ease.  There  is  a 
pedantic  constraint  that  alienates  and  disgusts.  In  short, 
her  mind  is  very  superior  to  his  in  my  opinion.  His  visions 
and  descriptions  are  pedantry  and  bombast.  But  her  style 
is  easy,  and  her  remarks  natural,  and  her  sentiments  beauti- 
ful. What  is  your  opinion  ?  Do  you  not  agree  with  me  ? 
'  The  mention  of  agreement  brings  me  to  the  recollec- 
tion of  an  opinion  of  yours  which  I  do  not  quite  assent 
to.  Certainly  it  is  most  desirable  that  the  minds  of  two 
persons  who  are  married  should  be  generally  conformable 
to  each  other.  But  I  think  the  kindness  of  your  heart 
seems  disposed  to  carry  that  conformity  too  far.  From 
some  little  conversation  which  I  once  had  with  you  on 
this  subject,  I  suspect  that  you  would  sometimes  resign 
your  opinion  without  conviction,  and  adopt  rather  too 
implicitly  the  opinion  of  your  husband.  I  know  it  is  not 
customary  to  give  this  advice  to  a  woman,  and  perhaps 
it  is  not  very  advisable  without  taking  into  consideration 
the  temper  of  him  whom  she  is  to  live  with.  You  know 
my  opinion  upon  the  manner  in  which  the  stronger  sex 
conducts  itself  towards  the  weaker.  Men  are  tyrants,  by 
usurpation  indeed,  but  by  consent  also.  They  are  dis- 
posed to  exact  rigid  obedience  where  they  should  use 
entreaty.  And,  therefore,  such  being  unfortunately  the 
case,  if  a  woman  is  to  be  united  with  a  man  who  expects 
an  unlimited  and  unqualified  compliance  with  his  com- 
mands, it  is  happy  for  her  if  her  temper  has  been  pre- 
pared by  education  and  expectation  to  conform  implicitly 
to  this  established  barbarism.  But  in  speaking  for  my- 
self, I  confess  to  you  I  should  be  better  pleased  if  you 
(for  why  should  I  make  a  general  hypothesis  ?  I  cannot 
bear  it), — if  you,  my  dearest  friend,  should  occasionally 
dissent  from  me,  and  preserve  your  own  opinion,  till  you 
358 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

were  convinced  that  mine  was  the  better.  Do  not  imagine 
me  so  wayward  as  to  wish  for  any  dissent  at  all,  even  in 
the  most  trifling  occasion.  But  as  it  is  impossible  that 
two  persons  should  invariably  think  exactly  the  same  on 
everything  in  the  world,  however  they  may  generally,  and 
in  the  constitution  of  their  minds,  resemble  each  other, 
I  should  therefore  be  somewhat  jealous  of  a  constant  and 
uniform  assent  in  every  particular.  It  would  seem  to  me 
to  imply  a  sort  of  distrust  of  my  temper  or  affection,  lest 
either  the  latter  should  be  diminished  or  the  former 
ruffled  by  an  accidental  difference  of  opinion.  In  the 
case  of  such  a  difference,  why  should  not  you  be  as  right 
as  I  ?  I  have  no  idea,  my  dear  friend,  how  two  persons 
living  together  in  the  most  intimate  of  all  conditions, 
loving  each  other  sincerely,  and  possessing  good  under- 
standings, good  tempers,  and  good  dispositions,  can 
possibly  differ  upon  any  material  question.  Even  now, 
I  do  not  think  that  you  could  mention  to  me  any  opinion 
of  your  own  which  would  not  either  have  the  effect  of 
convincing  me,  or  else  that  my  opposite  opinion  would 
not  produce  such  an  effect  upon  you.  We  should  argue 
with  candour  for  the  sake  of  truth,  and  for  the  desire  of 
conviction ;  and  I  will  not  believe  that  two  such  persons 
meeting  with  such  propensities,  and  possessing  nearly  an 
equal  comprehension  and  an  equal  intelligence  upon  the 
subject,  could  possibly  withhold  the  one  from  the  other 
their  assent  and  agreement.  You  see,  therefore,  that  I 
only  considered  before  the  case  of  an  immediate  and 
uninquiring  assent  without,  or  previous  to  investigation. 
Believe  me,  that  the  powers  of  the  mind,  and  the  excel- 
lence of  it  also,  are  much  injured  and  impaired  by  the 
loss  of  its  independence.  I  am  far  from  wishing  you,  as 
you  know,  to  think  too  highly  of  yourself,  but  I  would 

359 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

not  have  you  to  disparage  that  intellect  which  is  worthy 
even  of  your  own  respect.  It  was  implanted  in  you  to 
guide  you.  Why  should  you  make  a  surrender  of  its 
energies  ?  A  certain  confidence  in  yourself  is  good ;  I 
have  no  occasion  to  warn  you  against  too  much. 

*  I  could  have  expressed  all  I  have  said  much  more  fitly 
in  conversing  with  you,  but  we  so  rarely  meet  that  I 
cannot  reserve  everything  for  conversation.  In  writing 
I  am  always  afraid  of  saying  either  too  much  or  too 
little.  In  conversation  that  may  immediately  be  cor- 
rected if  a  wrong  impression  is  conveyed.  But  I  think 
you  will  understand  me  exactly.  I  am  afraid  I  have  not 
always  been  strictly  intelligible.  In  the  short  note 
which  you  last  wrote  to  me,  I  perceived  that  you  had 
written  the  following  sentence,  tho1  you  afterwards  struck 
your  pen  through  it :  "  You  afflict  me  when  you  talk  of 
the  gradation  between  perfect  right  and  wrong  being  so 
delicate  and  fine  as  to  be  hardly  perceptible."  I  think, 
my  friend,  you  do  not  quote  me  very  accurately  in  a  part 
where  a  slight  variation  of  words  makes  a  material  differ- 
ence in  the  sense.  I  do  not  exactly  remember  my  words, 
but  I  recollect  perfectly  the  idea.  I  meant  to  say  that  I 
was  afraid  sometimes  of  expressing  my  disapprobation  of 
any  observation  of  yours,  lest  by  not  conveying  it  in  terms 
sufficiently  precise  and  definite  I  might  appear  to  con- 
demn in  toto  that  which  I  only  doubted  of,  or  differed 
from  in  degree ;  that  in  questions  simply  of  degree  the 
shades  of  right  and  wrong  seemed  sometimes  to  approach 
each  other,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  excess  of  any  par- 
ticular virtue  might  be  neighbour  to  some  kindred  vice. 
This  I  recollect  to  have  been  my  meaning.  How  I 
expressed  or  applied  it  I  cannot  tell. 

'  I  must  some  day  talk  with  you  upon  the  habits  of 
360 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

thinking,  which  make  you  so  tremblingly  alive  to  the 
opinion  of  the  world.  There  is  a  proper  deference  due  to 
it.  But  to  be  the  slave  of  its  capricious  awards,  and 
blindly  led  by  it,  especially  upon  subjects  which  affect 
your  happiness  in  any  degree,  I  cannot  but  call  a  great 
weakness.  Indeed,  my  dear  friend,  your  mind  ought  to 
be  superior  to  it.  You  see,  if  you  will  challenge  me  to 
find  fault  with  you,  I  can  do  it.  If  you  say  that  the 
things  I  have  objected  to  are  of  little  importance,  and 
not  worthy  to  be  urged,  that  is  not  my  blame.  If  I 
knew  of  anything  that  was  worse,  I  would  not  spare  you. 
I  wish  very  much  to  talk  with  you  upon  these  and  some 
other  subjects.  There  are  one  or  two  questions  which 
I  could  wish  you  to  answer  me.  But  as  I  am  not  sure 
whether  you  would  choose  to  reply  to  them,  I  will  not,  by 
putting  them,  run  the  risk  of  a  refusal.  I  could  gain  the 
information  I  want  thro"1  another  channel,  but  I  will  not, 
except  from  you.  It  is  principally  a  motive  of  curiosity 
which  urges  me  to  wish  for  this  intelligence ;  but  nothing 
that  relates  to  you  can  possibly  be  indifferent  to  me. 
Remove,  indeed,  such  subjects  of  inquiry  as  these,  and 
you  would  at  present  put  an  end  to  almost  all  my  pur- 
suits. Investigation  with  me  is  nearly  asleep  on  all  other 
subjects.  I  do  nothing  when  I  do  not  think  of  you;  and 
look  upon  myself  to  have  lost  so  much  of  every  day  as 
your  image  has  not  occupied.  Upon  this  head,  however, 
I  have  very  little  to  tax  myself  withal.  If  to  lose  sight 
of  you  be  to  furnish  myself  with  an  occasion  of  reproach, 
I  shall  not  so  endanger  the  quiet  of  my  conscience. 

'  I  was  to  have  gone  with  Charles  Grey  on  Friday  to 
visit  the  prophet.1     Unfortunately  he  was  taken  up  the 

1  Samuel    Brothers,    an    ex-naval  officer,   who    believed    himself   a 
descendant  of  the  House  of  David,  and  announced  that  on  November 

361 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

day  before.  So  that  an  experiment  we  had  meant  to 
make  on  him  was  left  unattempted.  He  says  Grey  is 
descended  from  the  Hebrews,  and  therefore,  like  all  the 
rest  of  that  generation,  makes  him  (Mr.  Brothers)  an  un- 
conscious obeisance  when  he  passes  him.  By  this  token  he 
says  he  knows  Grey.  Now  we  were  in  hopes  that  Brothers 
would  have  been  unable  to  recognise  him  when  we  waited 
upon  him.  But  the  man  is,  I  believe,  quite  mad. 

'  I  was  out  of  bed  this  morning  before  half-past  six 
o'clock,  and  went  to  enjoy  les  reveries  (Tune  promenade 
solitaire  in  the  park.  I  walked  from  Spring  Gardens 
thro1  the  Queen's  and  Hyde  Park  as  far  as  Kensington, 
and  returned  to  breakfast  at  a  quarter  after  eight.  It 
was  one  of  the  most  delicious  mornings  I  ever  beheld, 
and  calculated  to  excite  all  the  benevolence  of  a  heart 
that  rejoices  in  the  display  of  natural  beauty.  Certainly, 
there  is  a  fine  moral  feeling  that  diffuses  itself  thro" 
the  frame  of  man  when  he  contemplates  the  softer 
embellishments  of  the  material  system.  That  man  has 
no  soul  who  can  walk  indifferent  and  unmoved  amidst 
the  gorgeous  scenery  of  luxuriant  nature,  who  cannot 
descend  to  communicate  with  the  objects  of  sense,  or 
find  incitements  to  virtue  and  dissuasions  from  vice  in 
tracing  the  progress  of  vegetation.  All  these  things 
have  great  effect  upon  me.  I  feel  myself  improved  by 
considering  them.  My  soul  seems  almost  stripped  of 
"  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay,"  and  to  partake  for  the 
moment  of  a  superior  intelligence.  This,  my  dear 
friend,  is  not  romance;  it  is  the  effort  of  our  purest 

!9>  X795>  he  would  be  revealed  as  Prince  of  the  Hebrews  and  Ruler  of 
the  World.  He  was  arrested  on  March  4,  1795,  for  treasonable  practices, 
was  defended  in  the  House  of  Commons  by  Mr.  Halhed,  and  finally 
placed  in  a  lunatic  asylum. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

reason ;  it  is  a  struggle  to  get  rid  of  our  earthly  encum- 
brances ;  it  is  a  virtuous  feeling,  flowing  from  a  quick 
susceptibility  of  the  beauty  and  the  goodness  of  God's 
works.  Do  you  never  feel  this,  my  beloved  friend  ?  If 
you  do,  good  and  kind  as  you  are  at  all  moments,  yet  in 
such  as  these  you  feel  some  more  than  ordinary  inclina- 
tion, some  loftier  and  more  sublime  propensities,  to 
relieve  distress,  to  comfort  the  afflicted,  and  to  diffuse 
far  and  wide,  without  distinction  and  without  limit,  the 
blessings  and  the  benefits  of  heavenly  charity.  Oh,  my 
dearest  friend,  what  would  I  not  have  given  to  have 
had  you  with  me  this  morning !  Farewell.  Write  and 
comfort  me.1 

PART  IV 

THE  last  letter  of  the  series  is  dated  May  23rd,  and 
tells  its  own  melancholy  story.  From  it  may  be  gathered 
the  reasons  given  by  Bel  for  putting  an  end  to  the 
correspondence. 

'  MY  DEAR  FRIEND  [it  runs], — 

'  I  could  give  you  a  world  of  reasons  why  I  have  not 
yet  answered  your  last  letter.  But  it  is  of  little  use 
to  mention  them.  Neither  shall  I  attempt  to  make  you 
conceive  the  severe  affliction  which  I  have  suffered,  and 
yet  suffer.  My  sorrows  only  concern  myself,  and  I  feel 
them  too  acutely  to  affect  to  describe  them.  I  confess 
that  I  was  surprised — I  was  not  quite  prepared  ;  for  I 
did  not  perceive  the  necessity  for  making  me  miserable. 
Yet  as  you  mean  me  well,  I  must  be  grateful  for  your 
kindness,  tho'  it  is  associated  with  death.  Once  in 
my  life  I  have  been  made  uncomfortable,  and  once 
beyond  measure  wretched,  by  two  persons  who  chose  to 
consult  my  happiness,  not  by  my  idea  of  it,  but  by  theirs. 

363 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

My  father  has  for  many  years  made  me  uncomfortable, 
because  he  foresaw  that  it  was  essential  to  my  comfort  to 
be  a  great  lawyer.  Another  person,  in  whose  hands  was 
every  hope  and  every  wish  of  my  life,  is  destroying  those 
hopes  and  wishes  with  one  blow,  because  she  knows  it  is 
expedient  for  my  happiness  to  lose  all  that  can  make  me 
happy.  It  is  true,  my  own  ideas  are  very  contrary — as 
opposite  as  the  two  poles.  But  where  I  am  not  con- 
sulted, I  can  have  no  voice,  and  therefore  submit,  not 
indeed  with  satisfaction,  not  by  conviction,  not  from 
reason,  but  by  necessity  and  thro"1  force.  He  who  lies 
bleeding  at  the  mercy  of  another  may  die  without 
struggling,  be  he  ever  so  reluctant  to  part  with  life.  I 
have  too  much  reason  to  fear  that  this  is  my  case.  Your 
letter  is  not  written  in  the  spirit  of  conference,  but  of 
decision.  My  own  happiness  is  professedly  the  question. 
Yet  it  does  not  advise  with  me,  but  determines.  In  that 
case,  what  part  can  I  take?  I  have  no  choice.  You 
must,  therefore,  my  friend,  act  as  you  please.  You  will 
always  act  as  you  believe  right — of  that  I  have  no  doubt. 
As  for  me,  it  is  quite  another  consideration.  You  have 
only  to  act.  It  is  I  who  must  feel  the  consequences  for 
ever.  Your  part  is  simple  and  quickly  taken.  Mine  is 
the  sad  remembrance  and  long  regret. 

'  How  little  did  I  think  when  I  wrote  you  that  last 
letter,  which,  it  seems,  determined  you  to  think  of  so 
hasty  a  resolution, — how  little  did  I  dream  of  the  effect 
it  was  to  produce.  You  had  previously  expressed  your 
concern  at  my  uneasiness.  I  wrote  to  assure  you  that  so 
far  from  being  uneasy  at  our  connection,  it  was  my  only 
pleasure.  This  still  more  convinced  you  that  I  was 
unhappy.  I  wish  to  God  that  I  had  never  written  that 
letter ;  but  I  could  not  possibly  foresee  that  you  would 
364 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

understand  it  in  such  a  light.  There  were  expressions  of 
affection  in  it  that  you  did  not  like.  I  do  not  recollect  in 
particular  what  these  were.  It  is  perhaps  unfortunate 
that  I  love  you  so  tenderly.  But  I  cannot  help  it,  and 
sometimes  I  cannot  avoid  saying  so.  Have  you  no  motive 
to  forgive  this  ?  Surely  you  should  not  make  me  miserable 
because  my  expressions  discover  that  I  wish  you  happy. 

'  One  or  two  of  your  sentiments  that  I  have  lately 
guessed  at  have  taught  me  to  suspect  that  since  you  have 
known  me  more,  you  have  liked  me  less.  You  may  not 
be  aware  of  this,  and  perhaps  you  will  tell  me  so.  But  I 
feel  that  it  is  so,  tho'  I  cannot  prove  it.  If  you  could 
read  my  mind,  you  would  know  my  reasons.  But  they 
would  appear  ridiculous  on  paper. 

'  I  do  not  wish  to  say  much  upon  this  unfortunate 
subject.  My  heart  is  too  full  to  utter  what  is  intelligible  ; 
and  since  your  thoughts  upon  the  letter  that  I  last  wrote 
to  Mr.  Digby  have  been  known  to  me,  I  despair  of  saying 
anything  which  may  be  any  more  persuasive  to  you.  I 
regret  mightily  that  you  saw  that  letter,  for  more  reasons 
than  one.  I  forgot  to  desire  Mr.  Digby  not  to  show  it 
to  you.  I  could  have  said  a  great  deal  more  in  favour 
of  what  I  then  proposed.  But  I  perceive  you  are  not 
likely  to  listen  to  what  I  might  then  have  added,  and 
my  heart  is  so  exhausted  that  it  cannot  waste  itself  in 
expressing  what  it  foresees  to  be  ineffectual.  You  were 
grieved,  you  said,  at  thinking  how  uneasy  your  illness 
would  make  me.  Would  my  friend  Losh  have  been  justi- 
fied in  loosening  our  intimacy  merely  because  I  discovered 
my  anxiety  by  attending  him  every  day  at  Hampstead  ? 

'  No,  my  dear  Bel,  if  you  seek  to  reduce  and  cool  'my 
affections  till  they  cease  to  feel  pain  when  the  object  of 
them  is  in  danger,  you  must  model  me  anew.  If  I  am  to 

365 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

be  punished,  first  by  the  suffering  of  my  friends,  and  then 
for  having  sympathised  with  them,  I  shall  not  long 
experience  such  double  chastisement.  A  heart  like  this 
cannot  long  endure  it.  In  short,  I  can  say  nothing.  I 
know  not  what  to  ask  of  you,  because  I  know  not  what 
you  may  not  refuse.  If  you  think  proper  to  allow  me  to 
spend  a  few  days  with  you  at  the  Park,  and  to  talk  with 
you  seriously  upon  all  these  things,  I  need  not  say 
whether  that  will  give  me  pleasure.  But  tell  me  first 
whether  you  are  resolved  upon  acting  wholly  from  your- 
self, or  would  listen  also  to  me.  I  would  not  willingly 
tease  you,  if  you  are  forearmed  against  all  I  may  say, 
and  that  my  reasoning  is  all  to  no  purpose.  As  for 
seeing  you  for  a  few  hours,  this  would  in  my  present 
state  only  agitate  without  relieving.  I  have  too  much 
to  say  to  you  to  say  it  in  one  breath,  scattered  as  are  all 
my  ideas,  and  confused  and  tumultuous  as  are  all  my 
feelings.  I  could  observe  upon  your  letter  at  great 
length.  But  the  time  is  passed  away  when  I  found 
happiness  in  lengthening  my  letters  to  you !  Be  not 
angry  at  anything  I  may  have  said — I  hardly  know  what 
I  have  said — ce  pauvre  cosur  a  tant  aimt.  God  bless  you. 
May  you  be  happy/ 

There  is  no  evidence  to  prove  that  the  lovers  ever  met 
or  corresponded  again.  In  the  following  October  Miss 
Gunning  married  General  Alexander  Ross,  best  known 
as  the  friend  and  aide-de-camp  of  Lord  Cornwallis. 
General  Ross,  who  was  then  in  his  fifty-fourth  year,  had 
been  appointed  Surveyor-General  of  the  Ordnance  in 
June,  1795.  In  September  John  Tweddell  went  abroad 
for  an  indefinite  period,  avowedly  with  the  object  of 
studying  men  and  manners  in  order  to  qualify  himself 
for  a  diplomatic  career.  His  letters  from  the  Continent, 
366 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

which  were  published  in  his  Literary  Remains,  contain 
little  that  would  interest  a  modern  reader,  since  they 
deal  for  the  most  part  with  regions  now  familiar  to  every 
tourist.  A  few  short  extracts,  however,  may  be  worth 
quoting,  as  illustrating  the  acquaintances  he  formed  with 
several  of  the  distinguished  French  Emigres  who  then 
found  an  asylum  in  Germany  or  Russia. 

Mr.  Tweddell's  first  stay  was  at  Hamburg,  where  he 
remained  about  four  months  in  order  to  study  German 
and  perfect  himself  in  French.  His  letters  of  introduc- 
tion admitted  him  into  the  best  society  of  the  place, 
and  here  he  became  acquainted  with  Madame  de  Flahault 
(1761-1836),  author  of  Adele  de  Senauge  and  other 
romances ;  M.  de  Souza,  the  Portuguese  minister,  whom 
she  afterwards  married  ;  Madame  de  Genlis,  Madame  de 
la  Rochefoucault,  the  young  Duke  of  Orleans,  Louis 
Philippe,  that  political  cleric  the  Abbe  Montesquieu, 
and  the  Comte  de  Rivarol,1  once  among  the  brightest 
stars  of  French  society,  and  now  condemned  to  hide 
their  brilliancy  in  the  remote  Northern  town.  Most  of 
Tweddeirs  letters  are  addressed  to  his  own  family ;  but 
among  his  other  correspondents  were  Mr.  Digby  (whose 
wife  had  died  on  May  25th),  an  early  friend,  Mr,  James 
Losh,  and  a  Mrs.  Ward.  In  writing  to  the  last-named 
lady  he  assures  her  that  he  cares  little  for  the  news  of  the 
day,  since  from  births  he  has  nothing  to  hope,  and  from 
deaths  he  has  everything  to  fear,  while  '  with  marriages  I 
have  no  concern.  Only  this  I  know,  that  for  the  most 
part  they  are  ill-assorted,  and  that  those  which  promise 
happiness  are  generally  broken,  together  with  the  hearts 
of  those  whose  hopes  are  disappointed.  .  .  .  Some  of  my 

1  Author  of  the  famous  Petit  Almanack  des  Grands  Homines  and  other 
works. 

367 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

recollections  are  of  the  painful  sort,  as  you  know.  I, 
however,  do  everything  in  the  world  to  give  myself 
spirits.  But  I  am  not  always  the  same.  Madame  de 
Flahault  says  in  a  letter  which  she  has  given  me  to  her 
niece,  the  Marquise  de  Nadaillac,  at  Berlin  :  "  II  est  un 
peu  melancolique.  Je  Tai  assure  que  si  ses  chagrins 
venoient  de  quelques  souvenirs  heureux,  ou  trop  in- 
fortunes,  mais  chers  encore,  votre  amabilite  lui  feroit 
oublier  toutes  les  femmes  de  son  pays." ' 

At  Berlin,  where  Tweddell  arrived  about  the  end  of 
January,  1796,  he  was  cordially  received  by  our  Envoy 
Extraordinary,  Lord  Elgin,  and  presented  at  Court, 
where  he  had  long  and  serious  conversations  with  the 
Prince  Royal,  afterwards  Frederic  William  in.,  on  poli- 
tical matters.  '  Royalty  has  been  extremely  civil  to  me,' 
he  says  in  a  letter  to  his  father.  '  Last  Sunday  night,  at 
the  Queen's,  one  of  the  Princes  engaged  the  lady  whom 
I  meant  to  have  danced  with,  and  I  was  for  a  moment 
without  a  partner.  The  Princess  Royal l  asked  me  why 
I  did  not  dance ;  and  upon  telling  her  the  circumstance, 
asked  me  to  dance  with  her.  You  see  to  what  honours  a 
traveller  may  advance  !  She  is  really  a  charming  woman, 
much  the  handsomest  in  Berlin.  Who  would  have  said 
last  year  at  this  time  that  I  should  now  be  dancing  every 
other  night  at  a  Court,  and  playing  cards  two  or  three 
times  a  week  at  a  minister  of  state's  ?  After  such  a 
revolution,  you  need  not  be  astonished  if  I  should  be 
converted  into  a  courtier  and  a  rascal.  I  assure  you,  the 
two  characters  travel  well  together  in  this  country. 
Profligacy  overflows  in  every  way,  politically  and  physi- 
cally, in  public  and  in  private  life ;  the  virtue  of  the 
women  and  the  poverty  of  the  men  are  well  matched.1 
1  Afterward  Queen  Louise  of  Prussia. 

368 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

His  chief  friend  among  the  women  was  the  Marquise 
de  Nadaillac.  In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Losh,  dated  Dresden, 
March  24,  he  says:  'I  have  left  at  Berlin  an  acquaintance 
that  I  regret  very  much,  the  Marquise  de  Nadaillac.  She 
is  really  an  excellent  woman,  extremely  instructed,  full 
of  esprit,  and  esprit  of  a  much  higher  cast  than  what  is 
usually  called  by  that  name.  She  converses  better  than 
any  person  I  ever  saw,  I  think  without  exception.  [He  had 
said  much  the  same  of  Bel  a  year  before.]  At  first,  seeing 
her  only  at  Court,  and  in  large  societies,  I  did  not  par- 
ticularly admire  in  her  anything  but  her  style  of  talking ; 
she  seemed  quite  a  coquette,  as  I  often  told  her  after- 
wards. But  upon  knowing  her  more  and  more  intimately, 
I  was  very  much  pleased  with  her.  She  has  a  greater 
stock  of  real  virtues  than  one  can  easily  conceive.  She 
is  an  emigrfo,  and  therefore  has  prejudices.  Sometimes 
we  almost  quarrelled  about  politics,  and  sometimes  about 
religion.  .  .  .  Since  I  left  you  I  have  talked  with  no  one 
so  intimately  upon  what  relates  to  myself.  The  people 
of  Berlin  talked  very  confidently  of  a  relation  between  us 
of  a  different  nature,  which  was  not  true,  friendship  alone 
being  our  bond  of  union  ;  but  that  their  manners  did  not 
allow  them  to  comprehend.  Plato  did  not  publish  his 
system  at  the  Berlin  press ;  besides  that,  Platonism  is  not 
very  common  between  a  young  man  of  twenty-six  and  a 
young  and  interesting  widow  of  twenty-seven.1 

At  Vienna,  which  was  reached  on  April  6,  Tweddell 
had  letters  from  Madame  de  Nadaillac  to  her  friend  the 
Duchesse  de  Guiche,  daughter  of  the  Due  de  Polignac,1 
with  whom  he  quickly  became  on  terms  of  intimacy. 
*  The  family  which  has  chiefly  contributed  to  my  enter- 

1  The  Duchesse  de  Polignac,  the  favourite  of  Marie  Antoinette,  had  died 
at  Vienna  in  1793,  shortly  after  the  execution  of  her  royal  mistress. 

2  A  369 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

tainment  and  interest  at  this  place,1  he  writes,  '  is  that 
of  the  Duke  of  Polignac  and  the  Duchesse  de  Guiche,  his 
daughter,  which  is  literally  the  pleasantest  family  I  ever 
was  acquainted  with.  They  were,  as  you  well  know,  the 
first  family  at  the  Court  of  France,  and  their  very  delight- 
ful manners  and  interesting  society  have  chiefly  contri- 
buted to  render  this  place  pleasant  to  me ;  I  spend  some 
part  of  every  evening  with  them.1  Another  new  acquaint- 
ance was  that  literary  and  military  genius  the  Prince 
de  Ligne,  who  was  pronounced  by  no  less  an  authority 
than  Madame  de  Stael  to  be  the  most  brilliant  talker  in 
Europe. 

After  a  short  stay  at  Munich,  Tweddell  passed  several 
weeks  in  Switzerland,  where  he  visited  many  regions 
then  unfamiliar,  and  is  said  to  have  prepared  an  account 
of  his  tour  for  publication.  He  was  not  much  attracted 
by  what  he  saw  of  Swiss  society,  except  that  of  Lausanne, 
where  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  M.  Necker  and  Madame  de  Stael,  who  invited  him  to 
stay  at  Copet.  To  his  mother  he  writes  from  the  Castle 
of  Copet  on  November  9,  1796  : — 

'  My  visit  here  has  been  highly  agreeable.  We  have 
had  a  very  small  party  in  the  house — a  Madame  de  Rillet, 
M.  Michel  de  Chateaurieux,  and  M.  and  Madame  de 
Stael.  Necker  talked  to  me  a  great  deal,  and  with  much 
interest,  about  England.  Upon  France  he  said  less,  and 
wished  in  general  to  avoid  the  subject.  He  is  generally 
thoughtful  and  silent,  but  I  have  had  the  good  fortune 
to  contribute  to  his  amusement  by  recounting  to  him 
different  circumstances  in  our  political  affairs ;  so  that 
Madame  de  Stael  tells  me  she  has  never  seen  him  for 
many  years  so  much  interested,  and  so  abstracted  from 
himself  and  his  own  thoughts.  He  was  anxious  that  I 
370 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

should  give  him  an  idea  of  the  different  manners  of 
style  and  oratory  of  the  first  speakers  in  our  House  of 
Commons.  As  I  recollected  speeches  of  almost  all  of 
them,  and  possess  in  some  degree  the  base  faculty  of 
mimicry,  without  being,  I  hope,  a  mimic,  I  repeated 
to  him  different  speeches  of  Pitt,  Fox,  Sheridan,  and 
Dundas  in  their  respective  manners.  He  understands 
English  perfectly  well,  and  you  cannot  conceive  how 
much  he  was  delighted  with  this.  He  desired  me  to  go 
over  them  again  ;  and  almost  every  day  we  have  passed 
several  hours  on  similar  topics.  .  .  .  Madame  de  Stael1 
is  a  most  surprising  personage.  She  has  more  wit  than 
any  man  or  woman  I  ever  saw  ;  she  is  plain,  and  has  no 
good  feature  but  her  eyes ;  and  yet  she  contrives  by  her 
astonishing  powers  of  speech  to  talk  herself  into  the 
possession  of  a  figure  that  is  not  disagreeable.' 

From  Switzerland  the  traveller  returned  to  Vienna, 
where  he  had  intended  to  spend  the  winter.  Here, 
however,  he  found  a  letter  awaiting  him  from  the  Due 
de  Polignac,  which  changed  all  his  plans.  The  Duke, 
who  had  gone  with  his  family  to  settle  in  Poland, 
explained  that  his  own  house  was  not  yet  habitable ;  but 
that  among  his  neighbours  was  the  Countess  Potozka, 
who  was  accustomed  to  invite  such  distinguished  persons 
as  she  thought  would  be  an  addition  to  her  circle  to 
spend  the  winter  at  her  house,  and  having  heard  much 
of  Mr.  Tweddell  (from  the  Polignacs),  she  now  invited 
him  to  stay  with  her  for  three  months.  This  invitation 
Tweddell  thought  too  good  to  be  refused.  '  I  shall  see 
new  people  and  a  new  style  of  living,1  he  writes  to  his 
family.  '  For  the  great  houses  in  Poland,  such  as  the 

1  Madame  de  Stael  was  then  thirty  years  of  age,  and  had  just  published 
the  most  important  of  her  earlier  works,  De  f  Influence  des  Passions. 

371 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

Countess  Potozka's,  are  conducted  upon  a  footing  quite 
different  from  those  of  other  countries ;  it  is  a  sort  of 
palace  in  which  you  have  your  own  apartment  perfectly 
independent.  She  has  officers  to  preside  over  the  different 
provinces  of  her  household  in  the  same  manner  as  in  a 
little  court.  She  was  particularly  connected  with  the 
late  Empress  Catherine,  and  her  fortunes  were  therefore 
not  affected  in  the  division  of  Poland.1 

The  journey  from  Vienna  to  Tulczyn  in  the  Ukraine 
was  not  a  pleasant  undertaking  in  mid-winter.  *  My 
journey  hither.'  he  writes  just  after  his  arrival,  on 
January  8,  1797,  '  was  full  of  accidents.  I  travelled 
almost  every  night,  and  yet  was  eighteen  days  on  the 
road.  During  the  snows  I  was  lost  several  nights  in  the 
Ukraine,  and  one  night  was  overturned  in  a  very  un- 
pleasant manner.  The  carriage  fell  from  a  considerable 
height.  I  did  not,  however,  suffer  much ;  my  head  and 
one  of  my  legs  were  bruised,  and  I  have  still  headaches. 
The  Countess  has  a  very  princely  establishment  indeed, 
about  a  hundred  and  fifty  persons  daily  in  family.  The 
Marshal  Suvarrow  and  a  very  great  number  of  his  officers 
occupy  one  wing  of  the  palace,  which  is  a  very  large  and 
magnificent  building.  I  have  an  apartment  of  three 
rooms  to  myself.  The  family  never  muster  before  dinner- 
time. Each  person  orders  breakfast  in  his  own  apart- 
ment, and  has  all  the  morning  to  himself;  this  is  very 
convenient.  The  Countess  sends  a  servant  to  me  every 
morning  to  know  if  I  want  anything,  and  to  ask  at  what 
hour  I  choose  to  ride  out.  I  have  a  carriage  and  four 
horses  whenever  I  please.  .  .  .  The  Due  de  Polignac's 
house  is  at  a  distance  of  half  an  hour's  drive;  I  go 
thither  upon  a  traineau,  i.e.  a  carriage  embarked  upon 
a  sledge  ;  and  the  road  is  one  entire  sheet  of  glass,  over 
372 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

which  the  horses  gallop  almost  the  whole  of  the  way.  I 
have  dined  twice  there,  and  was  witness  of  the  arrival  of 
news  which  gave  me  most  cordial  joy.  .  .  .  During  the 
time  of  dinner  a  courier  arrived  from  Petersburg  bringing 
a  letter  to  the  Duke,  written  by  the  Emperor  himself, 
and  containing  these  words : — 

' "  I  have  this  day  made  a  grant  to  the  Due  de  Polignac 
of  an  estate  in  Lithuania,  containing  a  thousand  peasants  ; 
and  I  have  the  pleasure  of  signifying  it  to  him  with  my 
own  hand.  (Signed)  PAUL." 

*  The  estate  is  worth  about  <£02000  sterling  a  year,  in  a 
fine  country,  where  the  living  costs  absolutely  nothing ; 
for  according  to  the  tenure  of  the  estate,  horses, 
meat,  eggs,  butter,  etc.,  down  to  the  minutest  article, 
are  furnished  by  the  peasants  exclusively  of  their  rent. 
This  grant,  in  addition  to  that  of  the  Empress,  will 
make  the  Duke  almost  a  rich  man,  and  diminish  his 
sense  of  the  losses  which  he  has  sustained  in  France.' 

To  his  friend  James  Losh,  Tweddell  writes  from  Tulczyn 
on  February  5 :  '  I  have  been  here  just  a  month,  and  am 
much  delighted  with  my  residence.  We  are  just  restored 
to  tranquillity  after  a  mighty  bustle.  There  has  been  a 
great  wedding  in  the  family ;  we  have  had  a  mob  of  Russian 
princes,  and  all  the  feet  of  Ukraine  have  been  summoned 
to  dance.  At  present  we  are  reduced  to  about  sixteen 
persons.  Among  these  is  the  Marshal  Suvarrow,  the 
hero  of  Ismael.  He  is  a  most  extraordinary  character. 
He  dines  every  morning  at  nine  o'clock.  He  sleeps 
almost  naked.  He  affects  a  perfect  indifference  to  heat 
and  cold,  and  quits  his  chamber,  which  approaches  suffo- 
cation, in  order  to  review  his  troops,  in  a  thin  linen 
jacket,  while  the  thermometer  is  at  ten  degrees  below 

373 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

freezing.1  His  manners  correspond  with  his  humours. 
I  dined  with  him  this  morning.  He  cried  to  me  across 
the  table,  "Tweddell!"  (he  generally  addressed  by  the 
surname),  "  the  French  have  taken  Portsmouth.  I  have 
just  received  a  courier  from  England.  The  King  is  in 
the  Tower,  and  Sheridan  is  Protector." ' 

Another  long  journey  of  eighteen  days  and  fifteen 
nights,  with  two  upsets  on  the  road,  brought  the  traveller 
to  Moscow  in  time  for  the  Coronation  of  Paul  in  April, 
1797.  The  ceremony  he  describes  as  one  of  unique 
magnificence,  but  says  that  Paul  is  only  a  caricature  of 
Peter  the  Third,  and  an  imitator  of  Frederick  the  Great. 
He  supped  with  Stanislas,  ex-King  of  Poland,  saw  a  great 
deal  of  the  highest  Russian  society,  and  in  May  followed 
the  rest  of  his  friends  to  St.  Petersburg.  The  journey 
which  he  had  projected  to  Constantinople  at  this  time  was 
postponed  until  the  autumn,  and  he  spent  the  summer  in 
a  tour  through  Finland  to  Stockholm,  whence  he  writes 
to  Mrs.  Ward,  who  was  contemplating  a  visit  to  Paris  : — 

'  Madame  de  Stael  is  now  at  Paris,  and  perhaps  Madame 
de  Flahault.  I  will  give  you  letters  to  both  these  ladies ; 
they  are  both  very  clever  women  ;  the  former,  indeed, 
is  a  most  superior  person ;  I  have  seen  very  few  men 
by  any  means  equal  to  her  in  conversation ;  she  is 
not  handsome ;  that,  I  suppose,  makes  no  difference  to 
you.  .  .  .  Madame  de  Stael,  however,  has,  I  understand, 
entirely  eclipsed  Madame  Tallien,  who  is  the  belle  of 
Paris,  and  whose  beauty  has  retired  in  grand  disarray 
before  the  prevailing  wit  of  the  daughter  of  Necker.  I  am 
sure  she  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  on  your  own  account  first, 

1  Suvorof  s  (as  the  name  is  more  commonly  spelt)  wardrobe  is  said  to 
have  consisted  of  one  uniform  and  one  dressing-gown.  He  died  in 
disgrace  in  1 800,  aged  seventy-one. 

374 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

and  next  on  mine,  as  I  have  the  good  fortune  to  stand  well 

in  her  good  graces.1  ...  I  understand  that [probably 

Dr.  Warton]  is  terribly  annoyed  about  the  Shakespearean 
forgery.  There  is  the  misery  of  being  a  proud  critic.  I 
am  also  among  the  number  of  the  wise  ones  duped  on 
that  occasion,  and  I  should  be  well  content  to  have  no 
other  cares  than  those  which  that  circumstance  has  occa- 
sioned me ;  it  was,  to  be  sure,  a  very  facetious  humbug.'' 

In  September  Tweddell  was  back  again  at  St.  Peters- 
burg, and  at  the  end  of  the  month  he  set  out  for  the 
Crimea.2  The  Due  de  Polignac's  place,  Woitovka,  lay 
directly  in  his  way,  and  here  he  stayed  several  weeks.  Of 
course  he  was  nearly  killed  in  a  carriage  accident  on  the 
way,  his  twelfth  overturn  in  twelve  months ;  and  it  may 
here  be  noted  that  he  was  as  unlucky  on  sea  as  on  land, 
never  making  a  voyage,  according  to  his  own  account, 
without  encountering  either  a  storm  or  a  calm.  On  his 
journey  through  the  Crimea  he  stayed  at  Sympherol  with 
Professor  Pallas,3  '  the  most  distinguished  man  of  letters 
in  Russia,1  made  drawings  of  all  the  most  interesting  views 
in  the  neighbourhood,  and  copied  all  the  inscriptions  he 
could  find.  It  was  during  his  visit  to  the  Polignacs  that, 
as  he  explains  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Digby,  a  material  change 
took  place  in  his  way  of  living. 

'  I  no  longer,1  he  writes,  '  eat  flesh-meat,  nor  drink 
fermented  liquors.  ...  I  am  persuaded  we  have  no  other 
right  than  the  right  of  the  strongest,  to  sacrifice  to  our 

1  Madame  de  Stael  said  of  John  Tweddell :    '  J'ai  rencontre  peu  de 
personnes  dont  le    caractere    inspirat    plus  d'attachement,   et   dont   la 
conversation  fut  plus  interessante.' 

2  As  will  be  seen,  Tweddell  covered  a  great  deal  of  the  same  ground 
that  Lady  Craven  had  traversed  twelve  years  earlier.    After  his  death  her 
Travels  were  found  among  his  books. 

3  Author  of  the  Flora  Rossica  and  many  other  scientific  works. 

375 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

monstrous  appetites  the  bodies  of  living  things,  of  whose 
qualities  and  relations  we  are  ignorant  ...  to  flay  alive 
and  to  dismember  a  defenceless  creature,  to  pamper  the 
unsuspecting  beast  which  grazes  before  us,  with  the 
single  view  of  sucking  his  blood  and  grinding  his  bones. 
.  .  .  Our  passions  must  be  much  tamed  and  reduced  by 
abstinence  from  whatever  irritates  the  blood,  and  conse- 
quently the  habits  of  virtue  must  be  invigorated,  and 
the  facility  of  its  practice  greatly  increased.  .  .  .  The 
Duchesse  de  Guiche  has  adopted  this  plan  also,  and  we 
sustain  every  day  the  artillery  of  the  whole  house.  In 
the  meantime  we  live  upon  rice,  milk,  eggs,  potatoes, 
bread,  and  dried  fruits.1 

After  being  compelled  to  wait  six  tedious  weeks  at 
Odessa  for  the  vessel  in  which  he  had  engaged  a  passage, 
Tweddell  arrived  at  Constantinople  on  May  21,  1798,  and 
was  hospitably  entertained  at  the  English  Palace  by  our 
Ambassador,  Mr.  Spencer  Smythe.  His  further  plans 
were  then  uncertain.  *  The  French  and  the  plague,'  he 
observes,  '  must  decide  in  some  measure  where  I  shall 
go.  Be  assured  that  I  have  no  inclination  to  encounter 
either  disorder ;  but,  oh !  those  monstrous  despots  who 
call  themselves  republicans.  They  have  degraded  the 
name;  they  have  done  more  harm  to  real  liberty  than 
they  ever  promised  to  do  good.1  It  is  interesting  to 
note  from  this  and  the  following  passage  how  the  feel- 
ings of  a  true  lover  of  liberty,  a  theoretical  republican, 
and  a  former  admirer  of  the  principles  of  the  French 
Revolution,  changed  towards  the  people  and  the  govern- 
ment that  preached  brotherhood  and  freedom,  while  it 
practised  cruelty  and  oppression  : l 

i  His  friendship  with  the  exiled  aristocrats  may  have  had  something  to 
do  with  this  change  of  feeling. 

376 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

'  The  inordinate  ambition  of  the  five  kings  of  France 
[the  pentarchial  directory] ;  their  utter  contempt  of 
their  own  principles  in  every  one  of  their  own  acts  of  in- 
terior government ;  their  profligate  usurpation  of  power 
in  annulling  elections  and  ruling  by  military  force ; 
their  hateful  plunder  of  their  own  infatuated  allies ; 
their  arrogant  and  disgusting  pretensions  to  universal 
sovereignty,  and  to  all  the  property  of  the  affiliated 
republics ;  together  with  their  fulsome  panegyrics  upon 
their  own  virtue,  their  patriotism,  their  superiority  to 
the  ancients,  and  that  purity  of  honour  which  in  no  one 
instance  they  have  not  violated  with  the  most  offensive 
and  nauseous  aggravations  ; — all  this  horrible  union 
of  whatever  is  calculated  to  wound  a  feeling  and  a 
generous  spirit,  makes  me  especially  execrate  those  who, 
having  had  the  fairest  chance  of  benefiting  the  human 
race,  have  converted  all  their  medicines  into  poisons. 
Their  conduct  towards  America,  and  more  especially 
towards  Switzerland,  transports  me  with  rage.  The 
French  have  done  an  eternal  injury  to  the  cause  of 
freedom  ;  they  have  misassigned  its  holy  name  and  its 
divine  attributes  to  despotism  in  its  worst  form — to 
violence  personating  justice.' 

The  traveller  spent  the  whole  summer  in  or  near 
Constantinople,  relinquishing  his  plans  of  a  tour  in 
Egypt  in  consequence  of  the  disturbed  state  of  the 
country.  *  Rebels  on  one  hand,'  he  writes  on  Sep- 
tember 10,  '  and  the  French  on  the  other ;  a  tottering 
government  and  a  discontented  people;  the  strongest 
fortress  of  European  Turkey  invaded ;  add  to  all 
this  the  plague  in  every  quarter,  and  you  will  easily 
imagine  why  I  have  chosen  to  pause  rather  than  to  pro- 
ceed.' Things,  however,  were  beginning  to  wear  a  more 
favourable  aspect  owing  to  the  news  just  received  of 

377 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

Nelson's  victory  over  the  French  at  the  battle  of  the  Nile, 
which  had  spread  a  great  satisfaction  throughout  the 
East.  '  There  have  been  public  celebrations  of  the 
victory  at  Rhodes,''  writes  Tweddell,  '  during  the  three 
days  that  Nelson  stayed  there ;  and  the  Sultan,  when  he 
heard  of  it,  took  an  aigrette  of  diamonds  out  of  his 
turban  (worth  at  least  £\%QQ)  and  sent  it,  with  a  letter 
signed  by  himself,  to  Mr.  Smythe,  as  a  present  to  the 
Admiral.  This  is  the  greatest  honour  he  can  confer  on 
any  subject ;  he  knows  no  higher  distinction.' 

It  was  not  until  the  end  of  October  that  our  hero 
found  himself  able  to  set  out  on  his  projected  tour  in 
Greece,  which  was  to  include  visits  to  Nicea,  the  lake  of 
Apollonia,  Sestos  and  Abydos,  the  plain  of  Troy,  Smyrna, 
Ephesus,  the  Grecian  islands,  Athens,  and  the  Morea.  He 
had  already  collected  a  large  number  of  valuable  draw- 
ings of  Constantinople,  its  environs,  and  the  costumes  of 
the  country,  and  carried  with  him  on  his  journey  through 
Greece  a  clever  French  artist,  M.  Preaux,  who  had  been 
employed  by  the  Comte  de  Choiseul ;  and  being  unable 
to  return  to  his  own  country,  was  glad  to  make  the  pro- 
posed tour,  during  which  he  was  to  execute  drawings  of 
the  most  interesting  buildings  and  ruins  upon  very 
moderate  conditions.  Not  wishing  to  be  burdened  with 
overmuch  baggage,  Tweddell  left  all  his  papers  and  notes, 
his  collection  of  drawings,  and  his  journals  of  the  tours 
in  Switzerland  and  the  Crimea,  at  Pera,  with  a  Mr. 
Thornton,  a  servant  of  the  Levant  Company,  and  author 
of  The  Present  State  of  Turkey. 

Naturally,  Athens  was  the  principal  objective  of  so 
ardent  a  classical  scholar.  Here  he  intended  to  spend  at 
least  two  months ;  and  '  I  promise  you,'  he  writes  to  his 
father, '  those  who  come  after  me  shall  have  nothing  to 
glean.  Not  only  every  temple  and  every  archway,  but 
378 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

every  stone  and  every  inscription,  shall  be  copied  with 
the  most  scrupulous  fidelity.'  He  arrived  at  Athens  on 
December  29,  and  here  he  spent  nearly  double  the  pro- 
posed period,  living,  as  he  writes,  '  very  economically 
and  philosophically;  solely  intent  upon  the  great  objects 
that  surround  us.  We  rise  early,  and  dine  at  five  o'clock. 
The  whole  interval  is  employed  in  drawing  on  the  one 
hand ;  and  on  the  other,  in  considering  the  scenes  of 
ancient  renown,  the  changes  which  they  have  undergone, 
and  the  marks  that  yet  distinguish  them.  I  shall  certainly 
have  the  most  valuable  collection  of  drawings  of  this 
country  which  was  ever  carried  out  of  it.'  Tweddell 
believed,  it  is  evident  from  his  letters,  that  by  his  labori- 
ous investigations  he  should  be  enabled  to  correct  and 
supplement  the  observations  of  other  workers  in  the 
same  field.  His  special  qualifications  for  such  an  under- 
taking were  stated  by  no  less  an  authority  than  Dr.  Parr, 
who  says  in  a  letter  to  Robert  Tweddell,  written  after 
John's  death : — 

'  I  know,  and  have  often  said,  that  in  good  taste  and 
good  learning  John  Tweddell  was  more  qualified  to 
discover  and  communicate  what  scholars  would  value  than 
any  other  traveller  with  whom  I  was  acquainted.  .  .  .  He 
had  the  finest  ear  both  for  the  prose  and  poetry  of  Greek 
and  Latin  writers ;  he  had  a  gaiety  of  fancy  which  must 
have  been  of  the  highest  use  to  him  in  surveying  the 
works  both  of  nature  and  art.  He  had  a  clearness  of 
judgment  which  must  have  preserved  him  from  the 
impositions  to  which  ordinary  travellers  are  exposed. 
His  mind  was  impregnated  with  the  poetical  imagery  of 
the  ancients.  ...  In  truth,  Mr.  Tweddell !  he  was  pre- 
eminently formed  to  be  a  learned  traveller ;  and  then, 
dear  sir,  to  ardent  curiosity  and  a  right  imagination  he 
added  that  love  of  truth  which  must  have  protected 

379 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

him  from  the  glittering  ornaments  and  the  false  state- 
ments which  often  disgust  me  in  Volney  and  other  French 
writers.' 

In  March  Tweddell  was  contemplating  a  tour  in  the 
Peloponnesus,  and  was  only  waiting  at  Athens  for  a 
Tartar  messenger  with  letters  from  Constantinople ;  but 
on  April  25  he  is  still  at  Athens,  the  messenger  not 
having  yet  arrived.  He  had  received  information,  how- 
ever, of  the  total  destruction  of  Peraby  fire,  and  had  every 
reason  to  fear  that  the  collections  and  journals  which  were 
deposited  with  Mr.  Thornton  were  irrevocably  lost.  '  My 
share  of  this  calamity  appears  no  doubt  very  inconsider- 
able,1 he  writes,  '  yet  perhaps  I  would  have  consented  to 
lose  one-half  of  all  I  may  one  day  have  rather  than  the 
fruits  of  three  years  and  a  half  of  constant  application. 
.  .  .  Amen !  I  am  wedded  to  calamity,  and  so  must 
think  no  more  of  this.1  These  words  are  worth  quoting, 
as  showing  the  value  that  Tweddell  set  upon  his  papers, 
which,  as  it  happened,  were  rescued  from  the  flames  by 
Mr.  Thornton,  only  to  suffer  a  more  mysterious  fate. 
The  owner  heard  of  the  safety  of  his  property  during  the 
travels  which  he  undertook  during  May  and  June  in  the 
Peloponnesus.  From  thence  he  returned  to  Athens  in 
July,  intending  only  to  remain  there  a  week,  on  his  way 
to  the  Grecian  Archipelago. 

But  the  Grecian  islands  were  to  remain  for  ever  unseen, 
for  both  Tweddell  and  Preaux  the  artist  were  attacked 
with  a  malignant  fever,  of  which  the  former  died  on 
July  25  after  four  days1  illness,  having  only  lately 
passed  his  thirtieth  birthday.  He  was  buried  at  his 
own  request  in  the  Temple  of  Theseus ;  and  twelve  years 
later,  through  the  exertions  of  Lord  Byron  and  other 
travellers,  a  block  of  marble,  sawed  from  one  of  the 
bas-reliefs  of  the  Parthenon,  was  placed  over  the  grave, 
380 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

bearing  a  Greek  inscription  composed  by  the  Rev.  Robert 
Walpole.  Many  were  the  expressions  of  grief  and  regret 
called  forth  from  those  who  had  known  the  dead  scholar, 
and  expected  him  to  fulfil  the  promise  of  his  youth. 
Dr.  Parr,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Losh,  alludes  to  Tweddell's 
death  as  '  an  event  which  must  blast  many  of  my  fairest 
prospects  in  that  portion  of  existence  which  is  reserved 
for  me.  [Dr.  Parr  died  in  1825,  aged  seventy-eight.] 
You  may  assure  his  father  that  no  man  ever  esteemed 
his  son  more  unfeignedly,  ever  respected  him  more  deeply, 
ever  loved  him  more  fondly  than  myself. ' l  Several  other 
admirers  struggled  valiantly,  if  unsuccessfully,  in  elegiac 
verse  with  the  impracticable  name  of  Tweddell,  e.g. — 

'  There  where  e'en  Tweddell's  mortal  fire, 
Alas,  how  soon  must  all  expire  ! ' 

And  again — 

'  Is  Tweddell  gone  ?  and  shall  no  voice  be  raised 
His  high  endowments  or  his  fate  to  sing  ? ' 

It  might  be  thought  that  the  misfortunes  of  our  hero 
were  over  with  his  death,  which  perhaps  to  him  was  no 
such  unwelcome  event.  There  are  many  passages  in  his 
published  letters  which  show  that  he  suffered  from  a 
profound  melancholy,  caused,  it  may  be,  as  much  by  his 
disappointment  in  his  career  as  by  his  disappointment 
in  love.  His  ambition,  he  declared,  was  extinct,  his 
enthusiasm  burnt  out,  all  the  brilliant  society  that  he 
had  enjoyed  since  leaving  England  had  made  no  serious 
alteration  upon  the  permanent  feeling  of  his  mind.  '  I 
have  no  particular  grief  at  present,"1  he  had  written  while 
he  was  in  Sweden,  '  but  I  am  not  happy ;  I  feel  a  want  of 
something  I  once  thought  necessary  to  me ;  and  I  don't 
know  what  it  is  to  possess  that  tranquil  habit  of  thought 

1  Dr.  Parr  composed  a  Latin  epitaph  for  a  tablet  commemorating  John 
Tweddell,  which  was  placed  in  the  chapel  of  Haydon,  Northumberland. 

381 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

or  feeling  which  some  persons  owe  to  mere  health,  and 
others  to  the  tenor  of  a  contented  life  that  has  never 
been  disturbed.1 

With  the  literary  scandal  that  conferred  a  posthumous 
celebrity  on  the  name  of  John  Tweddell  it  is  not  necessary 
to  deal  at  any  length.  Briefly,  the  facts  are  as  follows  : 
After  TweddelPs  death,  Lord  Elgin,  who  had  just 
been  sent  out  as  Ambassador  Extraordinary  to  the  Porte, 
ordered  that  all  the  dead  man's  effects  (he  died  intestate) 
should  be  sent  to  the  British  Chancery  at  Constantinople. 
The  collection  of  drawings  and  manuscripts  that  had 
been  left  at  Athens  was  embarked  on  board  a  vessel 
which  was  wrecked  or  stranded  in  the  Sea  of  Marmora, 
her  cargo  remaining  under  water  for  three  days.  The 
boxes  containing  TweddelTs  property  were  recovered,  and 
on  their  arrival  at  Constantinople  were  placed  in  the  cellars 
of  the  Chancery,  where  they  were  left  for  eight  weeks. 
When  at  length  they  were  opened,  the  contents  were 
found  to  be  in  a  state  resembling  pulp,  but  the  manuscripts 
were  still  legible,  and  the  drawings  were  '  restored '  by  a 
local  artist.  According  to  Lord  Elgin's  account,  all  the 
effects,  including  those  that  had  been  deposited  with 
Mr.  Thornton,  were  carefully  packed  by  Professor  Carlyle, 
a  member  of  his  suite,  and  seen  on  board  a  homeward 
bound  vessel  by  his  chaplain,  Dr.  Philip  Hunt.  This 
property,  valuable  at  least  to  the  Tweddell  family,  never 
arrived  in  England,  nor,  in  spite  of  the  most  anxious 
inquiries  on  the  part  of  the  dead  man's  friends,  could  its 
whereabouts  ever  afterwards  be  traced.  It  had  dis- 
appeared as  completely  and  mysteriously  as  though  the 
earth  had  opened  and  swallowed  it  up. 

The  matter  was  allowed  to  rest  for  a  dozen  years ;  and 
then,  the  suspicions  of  Robert   Tweddell  having  been 
aroused  that  his  brother's  collections  had  been  treated 
382 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

with  culpable  negligence,  if  not  actually  tampered  with, 
he  made  further  inquiries  of  Lord  Elgin,  and  receiving  no 
very  satisfactory  answers,  petitioned  the  Levant  Company 
at  Constantinople  to  institute  a  searching  investigation 
into  the  whole  matter.  The  petition  was  granted,  but 
no  further  light  was  thrown  on  the  mystery.  Lord  Elgin, 
'by  a  strong  effort  of  memory,'  expressed  his  convic- 
tion that  the  goods  had  been  sent  home  on  the  New 
Adventure,  which  had  suffered  shipwreck  on  the  way. 
But  inquiry  proved  that  her  cargo  had  included  no 
packages  belonging  to  Mr.  Tweddell,  while  no  invoice  or 
bill  of  lading  could  be  discovered  to  show  upon  what  ship 
the  property  had  been  embarked.  On  the  other  hand, 
Mr.  Thornton  and  other  witnesses,  who  were  evidently 
adverse  to  Lord  Elgin,  declared  that  the  drawings  and 
manuscripts  had  been  left  lying  about  at  the  Embassy, 
where  they  were  examined  and  copied  by  members  of  the 
suite,  and  that  some  of  the  original  costume  drawings 
were  afterwards  seen  in  Lord  Elgin's  private  collection. 
Mr.  Thornton  stated  that  in  1801  Lord  Elgin  expressed 
to  him  the  disappointment  he  had  just  experienced  at  the 
refusal  of  Dr.  Hunt  to  proceed  to  Athens  for  the  super- 
intendence of  his  lordship's  Pursuits  in  Greece,  adding, 
'  I  had  prepared  him  for  the  purpose  by  allowing  him  the 
use  of  Tweddell's  papers  and  collections.' 

In  1815  Robert  Tweddell  published  his  brother's 
Remains  in  two  quarto  volumes,  containing  his  corre- 
spondence, his  Prolusiones  Juveniles,  and  an  Appendix 
(of  between  two  and  three  hundred  pages)  describing  the 
extraordinary  disappearance  of  his  collections.  The 
editor  set  forth  at  full  length  his  communications  with 
Lord  Elgin,  and  did  not  disguise  his  suspicions  that  his 
lordship  had  tampered  with  the  property  committed  to 
his  care.  The  book  (which  went  into  a  second  edition  in 

383 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  JOHN  TWEDDELL 

1816)  was  reviewed  in  the  Edinburgh,  the  reviewer  taking 
a  line  which,  though  carefully  guarded,  was  on  the  whole 
inimical  to  Lord  Elgin,  and  demanding  that  further  light 
should  be  thrown  on  the  subject.  The  Ambassador 
published  his  defence  in  the  form  of  an  intemperate  and 
not  very  convincing  letter,  which  concludes  with  a  warn- 
ing to  the  editor  that  if  he  persists  in  his  evil  courses 
his  journal  will  become  an  'intolerable  nuisance/  The 
Quarterly  also  reviewed  the  book ; l  and  while  pointing 
out  that  the  charge  of  misappropriation  was  absurd  in 
view  of  the  absence  of  motive,  held  Lord  Elgin  convicted 
of  negligence  in  his  treatment  of  Tweddell's  property. 

The  subject  caused,  as  might  be  supposed,  a  nine  days1 
wonder  in  the  literary  world.  In  the  end  Robert 
Tweddell  withdrew  the  most  serious  of  his  charges,  and 
the  controversy  was  allowed  to  drop.  Fate,  grown  tired 
of  its  sport  with  a  victim  who  was  unconscious  alike  of 
good  or  evil  fortune,  allowed  poor  John  to  sleep  undis- 
turbed in  Theseus1  Temple,  where  the  traveller  may  still, 
in  the  words  of  one  of  those  forgotten  elegies — 

'  Pause  on  the  tomb  of  him  who  sleeps  below  ; 
Fancy's  fond  hope  and  learning's  favourite  child, 
Accomplished  Tweddell ! ' 

1  It  was  also  discussed  at  considerable  length  in  the  British  Critic  and 
in  Blackwood. 


384 


INDEX 


ABINGTON,  Mrs.,   104,  114,  115, 

183. 

Albemarle,  Anne,  Countess  of,  120. 
Algarotti,  Signer,  14. 
Amelia,  Princess,  6,  7,  12,  179. 
Anspach,  Elizabeth,  Margravine  of, 

119,  182-200. 

Christian  Frederic,  Margrave 

of,  144,  145,  167-184. 

BADCOCK,  Mr.,  108. 

Baillie,  Joanna,  270,  285. 

Bandello,  Matthieu,  48. 

Barrymore,  Lord,  183. 

Bassi,  Signora,  16,  32. 

Bath,  Thomas,  Marquis  of,  28. 

Bathurst,  Allen,  Earl  of,  16,  17,  30, 

31- 

Beattie,  Dr.,  80. 
Beauchamp,  Lord,  50. 
Beauclerk,  Lord  Aubrey,  35. 

Topham,  86. 

Beccari,  Dr.,  32, 
Beckford,  Alderman,  67. 
Bentinck,  Lord  Edward,  108. 
Bentley,  Joanna,  59. 

Richard,  58,  60,  69,  84. 

Richard,  junior,  69,  74- 

Berkeley,  Augustus,   Earl  of,   119, 

120,  121. 

Elizabeth,  Countess  of,    119, 

121,  122,    123,    125,    126,   127, 
128. 

Lady  Elizabeth,  119-127. 

Frederic,   Earl  of,    126,   149, 

158. 
Lady    Georgiana,    121,    123, 

124,  125. 

2  B 


Berkeley,  the  Hon.  Grantley,  183. 

Nar  bonne,  122. 

Bernard,  Dr.,  84. 

Bernsprunger,  Baron,  179. 

Berwick,  Duke  of,  126. 

Bickerstaff,  Isaac,  72. 

Bingley,  Mr.,  3. 

Blanca,  Florida,  90,  93,  96. 

Blessington,  Charles,  Earl  of,  183. 

Blount,  Mrs. ,  38,  39. 

Sir  Walter,  38. 

Boothby,  Sir  Brooke,  275. 

Boston,  William,  Lord,  125. 

Boswell,  James,  57,  80,  102. 

Bottetourt,  Lord,  122. 

Boyle,  Lady  Dorothy,  24,  25. 

Bristol,  Elizabeth,  Countess  of, 
144. 

Brooke,  Francis,  Lord,  28,  40. 

Brothers,  Samuel,  362. 

Bruce,  Charles,  Lord,  14. 

Brunswick-Oels,  Duke  of,  179. 

Brunton,  Louisa,  185. 

Buckingham  and  Chandos,  Richard, 
Duke  of,  200. 

Buckinghamshire,  Albinia,  Coun- 
tess of,  183. 

Burke,  Edmund,  70,  71,  79. 

Burlington,  Countess  of,  24,  25. 

Earl  of,  24,  25. 

Burns,  Jean,  286. 

Bute,  John,  Earl  of,  65,  68,  70,  75. 

Byrom,  John,  59. 

Byron,  George,  Lord,  195. 

CAMPBELL,  Lady  Charlotte,  284. 

Miss,  14. 

Thomas,  293. 

385 


INDEX 


Carlisle,  Frederick,  Earl  of,  123. 
Carlyle,  Professor,  382. 
Carnarvon,  Marquis  of,  164. 
Came,  John,  289. 
Caroline,  Princess  of  Wales,  196. 

Queen,  4,  6,  7. 

Carter,  Elizabeth,  1 6,  31,  270. 
Carteret,  Frances,  Lady,  45. 

George,  Lord,  44,  45. 

Lady  Sophia,  48. 

Catherine,  Empress  of  Russia,  151. 
Chesterfield,  Philip,  Earl  of,  44. 
Choiseul,  Comte  de,  155,  156. 
Cholmondeley,  George,  Earl  of,  123. 
Gibber,  Mrs.,  61. 
Clairon,    Mademoiselle,    169,    170, 

171. 

Clarence,  Duke  of,  193. 
Clayton,  Mrs.,  6,  7,  8. 
Coles,  Miss,  149. 
Colman,  George,  83. 
Congreve,  William,  17. 
Con  way,  Henry,  21. 

Francis,  Lord,  28,  29,  51. 

Corsi,  Marchese,  23. 

Cowper,  William,  341. 

Craggs,  Ann,  121. 

Craon,  Princess,  26. 

Craven,  Elizabeth,  Lady,  129-181. 

the  Hon.  Keppel,  184,  196. 

William,  Lord,  126,  135,  136, 

139.  159,  160,  181. 

William,  Earl  of,  185. 

Cumberland,  Bishop,  58. 

Elizabeth,  82. 

George,  90. 

Henry    Frederic,     Duke    of, 

126. 

Joanna,  59. 

Rev.  Richard,  59,  60,  62,  63, 

65.  77- 

Richard,  57-1 16. 

William,  Duke  of,  12,  13. 

Czartoriski,  Princess,  132,  151. 

DELANY,  Mrs. ,  45. 

De  Quincey,  Thomas,  288. 

D'Este,  Captain,  285. 

Digby,  Colonel,  301,  365,  367. 

386 


Dilly,  Charles,  62. 

Dive,  Miss,  9. 

D'Oberkirk,  Baroness,  169,  170. 

Dodington,  Bubb,  65,  66,  67,  183. 

Dorset,  Charles,  Duke  of,  143. 

Drummond,  Adam,  83. 

Drury,  Sir  Thomas,  71. 

Dunk,  Miss,  64. 

Durazzi,  Signora,  16. 

EATOFF,  Henry,  109. 
Edgeworth,  Miss,  282. 
Egremont,  Charles,  Earl  of,  190, 

123. 
Elgin,  Thomas,  Earl  of,  368,  382, 

383,  384- 
Elisee,  Pere,  1 20. 
Elizabeth,  Madame,  143. 
Euston,  Charles,  Earl  of,  24,  25. 
Eyre,  Lord,  76. 

FANSHAWE,  Catherine,  274. 
Farren,  Miss,  104. 
Faulkener,  George,  71. 
Miss,  71,  72. 


Ferdinand,  King  of  Naples,  1 76. 
Fermor,    Lady    Charlotte,   21,   43, 

47- 
Juliana,  Lady,  21,  47. 

—  Lady    Sophia,    21,    37,    41- 

45- 

—  Sir  William,  48. 
Ferrier,  Miss,  288, 
Fielding,  Henry,  52,  105,  107. 
Finch,  William,  47. 
Fingall,  Peter,  Earl  of,  121. 
Fitz-James,  Marquis  de,  126. 
Flahault,  Madame  de,  367,  374. 
Fletcher,  Sir  Robert,  80. 

Foote,  Samuel,  70,  71,  78,  80,  104. 
Forbes,  Georgiana,  Lady,  127. 

—  George,  Lord,  123,  124,  125. 
Foster,  Lady  Elizabeth,  144. 

Fox,  Charles,  132. 

—  Henry,  66. 

Frederic  William,  Prince  Royal  of 
Prussia,  368. 

GARRICK,  David,  57,  61,  67,  68,  74, 


INDEX 


77,  78,  80,  84,  85,  89,  100,  101, 

IO2,  113. 

Gay,  John,  17. 

Gell,  Sir  William,  196. 

Genlis,  Madame  de,  367. 

George  n.,  6. 

George  in.,  47,  70. 

Germaine,    Lady    Elizabeth,    122, 

127. 

— —  Lord  George,  99,  1 10. 
Gibbon,  Edward,  79. 
Goldsmith,  Oliver,  57,  80,  81,  83, 

84,  1 1 6. 
Gordon,    Jane,    Duchess    of,   266, 

275. 

Alexander,  Duke  of,  256,  292. 

Gozzadini,  Signora,  32. 

Grafton,  Charles,  Duke  of,  24,  25, 

43- 

Granard,  Lord,  123. 
Grant,  Mrs.  Anne,  of  Laggan,  237, 

255-296. 

Duncan,  269,  282. 

Isabella,  289. 

Mr.,  254,  260,  261. 

Granville,  Sophia,  Countess,  45,  46. 

George,  Earl,  44,  46. 

Gray,  Thomas,  86,  87,  88. 
Grey,  Mrs.,  333. 

Charles,  333. 

Guadagni,  Signer,  23. 
Guiche,  Duchesse  de,  370. 
Guines,  Due  de,  132,  141,  142,  146. 
Gunning,    Isabel,    299,   301,   314, 

316,  366. 

Margaret,  301. 

Sir  Robert,  300. 

HALHED,  Mr.,  348. 

Halifax,    George,   Earl  of,   62-64, 

67,  68,  70-72. 
Hamilton,  William,  68,  70. 

Sir  William,  176. 

Harris,  Mr.,  115. 
Harte,  Emma,  176. 
Hastings,  Warren,  356. 
Heidegger,  28. 
Hemans,  Mrs.,  293. 
Henderson,  John,  104. 


Hertford,  Algernon,  Earl  of,  4,  5, 

SO- 

Frances,  Countess  of,  3-53. 

Francis,  Earl  of,  51. 

Hervey,  James,  51. 

Lady,  66,  70. 

Mr.,  9. 


Hill,  Joseph,  158,  159. 
Hobbes,  Thomas,  23. 
Holdernesse,  Lord,  28,  41. 
Hook,  Mrs.,  273. 
Hunt,  the  Rev.  Philip,  382. 
Hussey,  Abbe,  90,  92,  94. 

IRELAND,  Samuel,  344. 
Irving,  Edward,  293. 

JEFFREY,  Francis,  278,  280. 
Jeffries,  Lord,  6. 
Jenner,  Edward,  137. 
Jenyns,  Soame,  79. 
Johnson,  the  Rev.  John,  274. 

Samuel,   4,   57,  79,  81,  loo, 

102. 

KAUNITZ,  Count,  94. 

Prince,  150. 

Keith,  Lady,  275. 

Sir  Robert,  149. 

Kemble,  John,  104. 
Keppel,  Admiral,  137. 
Knapton,  Mr.,  45. 
Knight,  Charles,  234. 

LACKINGTON,  George,  229,  234. 

James,  112,  205-234. 

La  Rochefoucault,  21,  22,  23. 
Lauzun,  Due  de,  132,  141. 
Le  Brun,  Madame,  129. 
Lempster,  George,  Lord,  47. 

Thomas,  Lord,  6,  9. 

Lennox,  Mrs.,  6. 
Leslie,  Mr.,  40. 
Le  Texier,  M.,  183. 
Ligne,  Prince  de,  370. 
Lincoln,  Henry,  Earl  of,  41-44. 
Lonsdale,  Henry,  Viscount,  15. 
Loughborough,    Alexander,    Lord, 
139- 

387 


INDEX 


Louis  xv.,  13. 

xvi.,  1 20. 

Louise,  Princess  Royal  of  Prussia, 

368. 

Lowth,  Dr.,  84. 
Luxborough,  Lady,  49-52. 
Lyttelton,  George,  Lord,  78. 

MACARTNEY,  Lord,  138. 
Macaulay,  Thomas,  46. 
Mackenzie,  Henry,  278,  280. 
Macpherson,  James,  80,  262. 
Macvicar,  Anne,  239-254. 

Duncan,  239-242,  259. 

Madden,  Robert,  199,  200. 

Mann,  Sir  Horace,  17,  25,  37,  42, 

43,  48,  148. 

Manners,  Lady  Frances,  8. 
Marie  Antoinette,  144. 
Marlborough,  Charles,  Duke  of,  II, 

12. 

John,  Duke  of,  152. 

Sarah,  Duchess  of,  7,  152. 

Martin,  Samuel,  75,  76. 

Mason,  William,  87,  99. 

Meadows,  Miss,  9. 

Melcombe,  Lord,  65,  69,  70. 

Montagu,  George,  74. 

Lady  Mary  Wortley,  3,  5»  7> 

21,  23,  31,  33,  42,  43,  153. 
Montesquieu,  Abbe,  367. 
Murphy,  Thomas,  70,  89. 
Murray,  Lord  Charles,  199,  200. 

NADAILLAC,     Marquise    de,    368, 

369- 

Necker,  M.,  370. 
Neuilly,  Madame  de,  13. 
Newcastle,  Thomas,  Duke  of,  65. 
Nichols,  Dr.,  61. 
Nithsdale,  Lord,  32. 

Lady,  32. 

Norfolk,  Charles,  Duke  of,  198. 
North,  Frederick,  Lord,  98,  99. 
Northumberland,  Hugh,  Duke  of, 

51- 
Nugent,  George,  Lord,  121. 

OLIVER,  Dr.,  47. 
388 


Orleans,    Louis  Philippe,  Due  d', 

367- 

Ossory,  Lady,  89,  132. 
Osuna,  Duke  of,  96. 

PALATINE,  Sophia,  Electress,  17. 

Paley,  Dr.,  346. 

Pallas,  Professor,  375. 

Pallavicini,  General,  95. 

Parr,  Dr.,  344,  379,  381. 

Pearse,  Dr.,  36. 

Pelham,  Miss,  42. 

Pembroke,  Mary,  Countess  of,  9. 

Penn,  William,  47. 

Pitt,  George,  43. 

Polignac,     Due     de,     370,     373, 

375- 

Duchesse  de,  143,  146. 


Pomfret,    Henrietta,   Countess  of, 

3-49. 
Thomas,  Earl   of,    6,    7,    9, 

48. 
Pope,  Alexander,   13,   17,   18,  26, 

28,  38,  104. 
Porteous,  Dr.,  272. 
Portland,  William,  Duke  of,  108. 
Potemkin,  Prince,  152. 
Potozka,  Countess,  372. 
Preaux,  M.,  378,  380. 
Prior,  Matthew,  17. 
Pulteney,  Robert,  29. 

QUEENSBERRY,  Catherine,  Duchess 
of,  29. 

Charles,  Duke  of,  28. 

Quin,  James,  61. 

REYNOLDS,  Sir  Joshua,  80,  82,  100, 

131- 

Riccardi,  Marchese,  19,  23. 
Ridge,  Elizabeth,  68. 
Rivarol,  Comte  de,  367. 
Robinson,  Mrs.,  135. 

Sir  Thomas,  41. 

Rochford,  Lord,  28. 
Rogers,  Samuel,  57,  103. 
Romanzof,  Princess,  152. 
Romney,    George,    87,    IOO,    IOI, 

102. 


INDEX 


Rosalba,  34. 

Ross,  General,  366. 

Rowe,  Mrs.,  6. 

Rutland,  Bridget,  Duchess  of,  8. 

SACKVILLE,  George,  Viscount,  89, 

99,  108,  109. 

St.  Albans,  Diana,  Duchess  of,  39. 
St.  George,  Chevalier  de,  32. 
St.  John,  the  Hon.  Frederick,  186. 
Savage,  Richard,  4. 
Schuyler,  Colonel,  240. 

Madame,  240,  241,  252,  273. 

Schwellenberg,  Madame,  180. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,   113,  275,  281, 

290,  293. 

Seckendorf,  Baron,  180. 
Sedgewicke,  Mr.,  72. 
Sefton,  William,  Earl  of,  185. 
Seymour,  Lady  Betty,  51. 

Sir  Edward,  50,  51. 

Sharpe,  Charles  Kirkpatrick,   1 10, 

191,  196. 

Shenstone,  William,  5,  49,  52. 
Sheridan,  Richard,  57,  85. 
Siddons,  Mrs.,  104. 
Smith,  Nancy,  214. 
Smithson,  Sir  Hugh,  51. 
Somerset,  Algernon,  Duke  of,  50, 

5»« 

Charles,  Duke  of,  4. 

Frances,  Duchess  of,  51-53. 

Southey,  Robert,  285. 

Spencer  Smythe,  Mr.,  376. 

Stael,  Madame  de,  371,  375. 

Stafford,  Lady,  66. 

Stanhope,  Lady  Isabella,  126. 

Stewart,  Miss,  239. 

Suffolk,  Henrietta,  Countess  of,  14, 

122. 

Sundon,  Lady,  6,  8,  9. 
Suvarrow,  Marshal,  372,  374. 
Swift,  Jonathan,  22. 


TALLIEN,  Madame,  374. 
Taylor,  Dr.,  185,  188,  190,  197. 
Thomson,  James,  5,  27,  49. 
Thurloe,  John,  18. 
Thurlow,  Edward,  Lord,  132,  140. 
Thynne,  Henry,  4. 
'  Tiranna,  La,'  95. 
Townshend,  Lady,  42. 
Trapp,  Dr.,  15. 
Tweddell,  Francis,  300. 
John,  299-384. 


Robert,  389. 

Tyrconnel,  Lord,  123. 

VAUCLUSE,  Madame  de,  131. 
Vernon,  Admiral,  35. 

Mr.,  153. 

Vincent,  Dr.,  116. 
Violante,  Princess,  20. 

WALES,      Augusta,     Princess    of, 

I25- 

Walpole,  Edward,  181. 
Horace,  3,  17,  20,  25,  37,  41- 

48,  70,  74,  86,  89,  129,  133-136, 

142,  161,  165,  180. 

Lady,  17,  21. 

Sir  Robert,  29. 

the  Rev.  Robert,  381. 

Warburton,  Dr.,  67,  84. 

Watts,  Dr.,  5. 

Wesley,  John,  209,  212,  222. 

Westmoreland,  Mary,  Countess  of, 

14. 
Weymouth,  Thomas,  Viscount,  4, 

27,  28. 

Whitfield,  George,  15. 
Wigtoun,  Countess  of,  8. 
William  III.,  77. 
Wilson,  Professor,  280. 
Winchelsea,  Daniel,  Earl  of,  47. 

ZANOTTI,  Dr.,  32. 


389 


Printed  by  T.  and  A.  CONSTABLE,  (late)  Printers  to  Her  Majesty 
at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press 


College 
Library 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


II  Hill  I II 

A     001  005  842     8 


